Princeton   Stories 


Princeton  Stories 


By 

Jesse   Lynch   Williams 


FOURTH  EDITION 


Charles  Scribner's   Sons 
New  York  ^^^:    1895 


Copyright,  1895,  ty 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

PRINTING  AND   BOOKBINDING  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


To  '92 


417797 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 

PA6E 

THE  WrxxixG  OF  THE  CAXE, 1 

THE  MADNESS  OF  POLEB  STACY,        .        .    "    .        .97 
THE  HAZISG  OF  YIT.T.TAXT,         .        .        .        .        .67 

HEBO  WORSHIP, 89 

THE  RESPOSSIBILJTT  OF  LAWBZSCE.  ....  105 
FIXING  THAT  FEESHMAN.     ......  139 

THE  SCBTB  QTAETEE-BACK. 177 

WHB*  GJKLS  COITE  TO  PRISCETOX,    .        .  .  193 

THE  LrrrtE  TrroR, - 

COLLEGE  MKS, 2-U 

THE  MAN  THAT  LED  THE  Ci^ss,       .        .        ,        -  277 


.% 

Pie  ATM*  Qmarter-Badk'  <a*  -  Wkat  6**  Com*  to  Prime* 


THE   WINNING   OF  THE   CANE 


THE  WINNING  OF  THE  CANE 


modern  Cane  Spree  is  held  in  broad 
1  daylight  on  University  Field.  It  is  a 
vastly  different  affair  from  the  Spree  we  used  to 
watch  with  chattering  teeth  at  midnight,  kneel 
ing  on  the  wet  grass  in  front  of  Witherspoon, 
with  a  full  moon  watching  over  West  College 
and  Mat.  Goldie  and  two  assistants  waiting  by 
the  lamp-post  to  join  in  the  fierce  rush  which 
followed  each  bout. 

Nowadays  it  is  one  of  the  regular  events  of 
the  Annual  Fall  Handicap  Games,  and  is  adver 
tised  in  large  special  feature  letters  on  the  post 
ers  hanging  in  the  shop  windows  and  on  the  bul 
letin  elm.  It  is  a  perfectly  proper  and  legitimate 
proceeding,  and  is  watched  like  any  other  field 
event  from  the  bleachers  and  Grand  Stand,  with 
girls  there  to  catch  their  breath  and  say  "  Oh  !  " 
The  class  that  wins  is  glad.  They  cheer  awhile 
and  then  watch  the  final  heat  of  the  2.20. 

In  GUI*  day  you  could  seldom  see  much  of 
anything,  and  there  was  nothing  proper  about 
it.  But  it  was  one  of  the  things  a  fellow  lived 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


for,  like  Thanksgiving  games  and  Spring  Term. 
To  win  a  cane  for  one's  class  was  an  honor  of  a 
lifetime,  like  playing  on  the  'Varsity,  or  winning 
the  Lynde  debate.  Men  are  still  pointed  out 
when  back  at  Commencement  as  the  light  or 
middle  weight  spreers  of  their  class,  and  a  mem 
ber  of  the  faculty  is  famous  for  having  "de 
scribed  a  parabola  with  his  opponent."  This 
trick  and  a  book  called  "  Basal  Concepts  in  Phi 
losophy  "  bear  his  name,  though  it  is  maintained 
by  some  that  he  is  more  proud  of  the  book. 

This  is  to  be  a  story  of  "  How  we  used  to  do 
when  we  were  in  college."  It  would  not  do  to 
revive  the  ancient  cane  spree.  Things  have 
changed  since  then.  We  are  a  university  now. 
We  mustn't  behave  like  a  college  any  longer. 
Besides,  it  was  bad  for  the  football  men  and 
training  hours.  But  all  the  same,  those  old 
times  were  fun  while  they  lasted.  Weren't  they  ? 

High  up  over  Clio  Hall  hung  a  moon,  which 
a  night  or  two  before  had  been  full.  Over  there, 
on  the  balconies  of  Witherspoon,  blue  and  red 
and  green  lights  were  flaring.  On  the  grass- 
plot  in  front  was  a  huge  black  circle.  This  was 
made  up  of  the  College  of  New  Jersey. 

Their  hats  were  off,  and  the  red  and  the  green 
and  the  blue  mingled  with  the  moonlight  and 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


glared  upon  the  bare  heads  and  the  white  of  the 
faces  with  an  effect  as  ghastly  as  it  sounds. 

The  elms  over  toward  Reunion  and  West  cast 
long  ugly-looking  shadows.  Beyond  these  every 
thing  seemed  far  away  and  dark  and  silent. 
Yet  only  a  few  hours  before  this  same  spot  had 
served  the  innocent  purpose  of  batting  up  flies 
and  kicking  footballs  for  points,  with  fellows 
shouting  in  loud,  careless  voices,  "  Aw !  Come 
off !  That  was  over  the  line  !  " 

The  circle  was  not  yet  perfectly  formed.  The 
crowd  shivered  and  fidgeted,  and  borrowed  lights 
of  one  another.  Those  behind  called  "Down 
in  front !"  And  everyone  wished  it  would  be 
gin.  Some  fellows  kept  edging  in  and  were 
shoved  back  again  by  those  appointed  for  that 
purpose.  A  few  were  moving  about  inside  the 
circle  displaying  rolls  of  bills  with  which  they 
made  bets,  and  a  great  impression  on  under 
classmen  of  a  certain  sort.  The  night  was  to 
be  clear  and  frosty,  and  the  strain  on  the  nerves 
tremendous.  So  all  those  who  believed  in  arti 
ficial  warmth  had  it  in  their  pockets,  and  some 
who  did  not. 

For  a  month  it  had  been,  next  to  football,  the 
most  discussed  topic  at  dinner-tables.  Almost 
as  soon  as  the  rush  was  over — the  annual  can 
non  rush  of  the  second  night  of  the  term  without 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


wliicli  the  freshmen  would  not  have  consid 
ered  themselves  a  class,  while  the  underclass 
men  -were  still  occupied  in  hazing  and  being 
hazed,  and  putting  up  and  pulling  down  each 
other's  proclamations  throughout  the  state,  and 
painting  and  repainting  water-towers,  and  losing 
sleep  in  other  good  causes ;  in  short,  early  in 
the  term  the  candidates  for  the  spreeing  posi 
tions  went  into  training,  and  they  had  been 
spreeing  vigorously  every  night  since — the 
freshmen  back  of  the  chapel  and  the  sophs  on 
the  South  Campus,  about  where  Brown  Hall 
now  stands. 

All  sorts  of  rumors  and  counter-rumors  had 
floated  about  the  campus.  The  sophomores 
were  frightened  about  a  hinted-at  dark  horse  of 
the  freshmen,  only  they  did  not  show  it ;  and  the 
freshmen  were  scared  to  death  at  the  confident 
air  of  the  well-known  champion  of  the  sopho 
mores,  and  tried  not  to  show  it.  And  each  was 
awed  at  the  mysterious  air  of  the  other,  and  both 
had  betted  more  than  they  had  any  business  to 
on  the  result,  and  were  now  lined  up  in  front  of 
Witherspoon.  All  were  as  excited  as  they  cared 
to  be,  and  the}r  had  been  cheering  for  themselves 
since  nine  o'clock.  The  cheers  echoed  in  the 
frosty  air  from  dark  West  and  bright  Wither 
spoon,  and  from  far  away  first  Church, 
o 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


The  sophomores  were  closely  massed  in  the 
segment  of  the  circle  on  the  higher  ground  to 
ward  Reunion.  Their  cheering  sounded  blatant, 
and  to  the  freshmen  sickeningly  confident.  And 
the  freshmen— they  were  opposite,  with  their 
sweet  scared  faces  still  more  closely  huddled  to 
gether.  Each  freshman  had  his  little  cap  safely 
tucked  away  in  his  innermost  pocket,  and  none 
of  them  was  saying  a  word,  except  when  he 
opened  his  mouth  to  cheer  with  all  his  heart 
for  his  dear  class.  It  was  all  ne\v  to  them. 
They  only  waited  and  waited  with  the  same- 
aching  suspense  that  you  had  on  Thanksgiving- 
day,  when  you  saw  the  referee  toss  the 
coin  and  one  team  take  the  ball  while  the 
other  crouched,  and  then  waited  and  waited, 
and  you  felt  certain  that  something  awful  was 
the  matter,  but  you  did  not  know  what. 

Presently,  though  no  official  sign  was  given, 
every  one  felt  that  the  important  moment  was  at 
hand.  The  cheering  sounded  as  if  reinforce 
ments  had  arrived.  A  compact  circle  was  now 
formed  by  composite  consent.  Those  in  the 
front  row  sat  down  on  the  grass  and  caught  cold. 
The  next  row  kneeled.  Those  behind  leaned  on 
them,  and  so  on  back  to  those  who  stood  on  tip 
toe  and  craned  their  necks  for  an  occasional 
glimpse.  Outside  the  circle,  over  by  the  With- 

7 


The  Winning  of  tbe  Cane 


erspoon  lamp-post,  leaned  Proctor  Matthew 
Goldie,  Esquire,  in  a  careless  attitude. 

Everyone's  heart  jumped  up  a  little  when  a 
voice  cried,  "  Here  they  come ! "  as  though  it 
were  he  who  had  to  spree. 

Led  by  their  coachers,  the  two  light  weights 
scudded  out  mysteriously  from  different  wings  of 
Witherspoon  with  overcoats  wrapped  about  them. 
As  they  crossed  the  light,  the  crowd,  which  had 
hushed  for  a  moment,  broke  out  in  wild  prolonged 
cheering;  the  two  upper  classes,  who  were  not 
immediately  interested,  joined  in.  So  did  the 
sporting  gentlemen  of  the  town,  and  even  the  little 
muckers  cheered  shrilly  for  their  favorite  class. 

A  path  was  forced  through  the  crowd,  and  the 
two  nimble  light  weights  began  peeling  their 
sweaters.  The  sophomore  was  dressed  in  black, 
the  freshman  in  pure  white.  They  resined 
their  hands.  Everyone  felt  things. 

The  referee  held  out  the  stout  piece  of  hickory 
called  cane  by  courtesy.  He  put  the  freshman's 
hands  outside.  The  cheering  ceased.  Mat. 
Goldie  stretched  and  changed  his  position. 

There  was  a  hurting  stillness  as  they  stood 
there  with  their  feet  braced,  frozen  in  the  ghast 
ly  glare,  the  one  in  white  and  the  one  in  black, 
while  the  referee  said,  in  earnest  tones,  "Are 
you  ready,  freshman  ?  " 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


You  could  see  his  chest  filling  up  from  the 
bottom  as  he  answered,  "  Um." 

"  Are  you  ready,  sophomore?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Spree !  " 

One  of  them  dropped  as  if  shot,  the  other  fol 
lowed  him  down,  both  turned  over,  each  began 
struggling  and  straining ;  the  coachers  began 
coaching,  the  referee  dropped  down  on  his 
knees  to  see  fair  play,  and  then  someone  in  the 
rear  said,  "  Down  in  front ! "  in  healthy,  human 
tones,  and  you  came  to  yourself  and  remembered 
that  this  was  only  a  struggle  for  class  honor, 
after  all,  and  that  whichever  way  it  came  out  it 
was  not  going  to  kill  you.  Then  you  breathed. 

Meanwhile,  locked  up  in  a  room  in  East  Mid 
dle  Witherspoon,  wrapped  in  sweaters  and 
blankets,  were  five  other  freshmen,  and  to  them 
the  strain  was  worst  of  all.  These  were  the 
other  freshmen  spreers,  the  light  weight,  the 
middle  weight,  and  the  three  substitutes.  They 
could  only  wait  and  listen  and  try  to  guess  from 
the  sound  of  the  cheers  which  side  had  the  ad 
vantage.  It  was  too  far  off  to  distinguish  any 
thing  but  a  ring  with  something  undefined  in 
side.  The  juniors  said  they  must  not  go  out  on 
the  balcony  or  get  excited.  This  was  easy  to 
sav. 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


erspoon  lamp -post,  leaned  Proctor  Matthew 
Goldie,  Esquire,  in  a  careless  attitude. 

Everyone's  heart  jumped  up  a  little  when  a 
voice  cried,  "  Here  they  come ! "  as  though  it 
were  he  who  had  to  spree. 

Led  by  their  coachers,  the  two  light  weights 
scudded  out  mysteriously  from  different  wings  of 
Witherspoon  with  overcoats  wrapped  about  them. 
As  they  crossed  the  light,  the  crowd,  which  had 
hushed  for  a  moment,  broke  out  in  wild  prolonged 
cheering;  the  two  upper  classes,  who  were  not 
immediately  interested,  joined  in.  So  did  the 
sporting  gentlemen  of  the  town,  and  even  the  little 
muckers  cheered  shrilly  for  their  favorite  class. 

A  path  was  forced  through  the  crowd,  and  the 
two  nimble  light  weights  began  peeling  their 
sweaters.  The  sophomore  was  dressed  in  black, 
the  freshman  in  pure  white.  They  resined 
their  hands.  Everyone  felt  things. 

The  referee  held  out  the  stout  piece  of  hickory 
called  cane  by  courtesy.  He  put  the  freshman's 
hands  outside.  The  cheering  ceased.  Mat. 
Goldie  stretched  and  changed  his  position. 

There  was  a  hurting  stillness  as  they  stood 
there  with  their  feet  braced,  frozen  in  the  ghast 
ly  glare,  the  one  in  white  and  the  one  in  black, 
while  the  referee  said,  in  earnest  tones,  "Are 
you  ready,  freshman  ?  " 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


You  could  see  his  chest  filling  up  from  the 
bottom  as  he  answered,  "  Um." 

"  Are  you  ready,  sophomore?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Spree !  " 

One  of  them  dropped  as  if  shot,  the  other  fol 
lowed  him  down,  both  turned  over,  each  began 
struggling  and  straining ;  the  coachers  began 
coaching,  the  referee  dropped  down  on  his 
knees  to  see  fair  play,  and  then  someone  in  the 
rear  said,  "  Down  in  front ! "  in  healthy,  human 
tones,  and  you  came  to  yourself  and  remembered 
that  this  was  only  a  struggle  for  class  honor, 
after  all,  and  that  whichever  way  it  came  out  it 
was  not  going  to  kill  you.  Then  you  breathed. 

Meanwhile,  locked  up  in  a  room  in  East  Mid 
dle  Witherspoon,  wrapped  in  sweaters  and 
blankets,  were  five  other  freshmen,  and  to  them 
the  strain  was  worst  of  all.  These  were  the 
other  freshmen  spreers,  the  light  weight,  the 
middle  weight,  and  the  three  substitutes.  They 
could  only  wait  and  listen  and  try  to  guess  from 
the  sound  of  the  cheers  which  side  had  the  ad 
vantage.  It  was  too  far  off  to  distinguish  any 
thing  but  a  ring  with  something  undefined  in 
side.  The  juniors  said  they  must  not  go  out  on 
the  balcony  or  get  excited.  This  was  easy  to 
sav. 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


While  the  crowd  was  in  the  room  and  fellows 
were  clattering  up  and  down  the  stairs  and  every 
one  was  talking  and  the  crowd  outside  was  mak 
ing  a  noise,  it  was  not  so  bad.  But  now  it  was  so 
silent  they  could  almost  hear  the  two  contestants 
straining  and  wrenching  below.  Now  and  then 
the  shrill,  earnest  voice  of  a  coacher  would  cut 
through  the  silence.  "  Now !  Now  !  "  with  an 
echo  from  the  Presbyterian  Church.  "Right 
over  with  him.  Eemember  what  I  told  you." 
Once  the  middle  weight  arose  from  the  divan ; 
then  he  sat  down  again.  A  little  later  one  of 
the  subs  whistled  two  bars  of  a  tune  and  stopped 
as  if  he  had  forgotten  something.  Once  in 
a  while  someone  glanced  at  one  of  the  others 
and  then  looked  away  again.  They  did  not  say 
much. 

The  only  one  who  did  not  seem  to  mind  it 
was  Hill,  the  substitute  heavy  weight,  and  that 
was  only  because  he  had  not  sense  enough.  He 
was  a  big,  thick-headed,  sleepy -looking  farmer, 
and  the  only  reason  he  was  up  here  with  these 
nimble  athletes  was  that  he  was  such  a  tremen 
dous  buck  and  so  stupid  that  when  once  he  put 
his  big  hands  on  the  stick  he  would  not  let  go. 
But  he  would  be  used  only  in  case  the  regular 
heavy  weight  died  or  had  a  fit  or  something  be 
fore  time  was  called,  and  that  was  improbable. 
10 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


But  Hill  was  enjoying  everything.  He  thought 
the  colored  lights  were  "  pretty,"  and  he  con 
sidered  it  good  fun,  loafing  in  this  large,  lux 
urious  room.  He  glanced  approvingly  at  the 
water-colors  and  examined  the  photographs  and 
knocked  down  a  few  of  them,  and  looked  over 
the  mugs  and  the  foils  and  the  antlers  and  the 
usual  dust  collectors  of  a  well-furnished  room. 
Then,  because  he  approved  of  what  he  saw,  he 
grinned. 

He  had  grinned  at  the  staring  crowd  when, 
half  an  hour  before,  it  had  stood  to  one  side  for 
him  and  the  other  spreers  to  pass  by  on  the  way 
back  from  weighing  at  the  gymnasium.  He 
thought  lots  of  things  were  funny.  He  grinned 
broadly  when,  before  the  spree  began,  an  ex 
citable  junior  approached  him  in  the  comer 
where  he  was  sitting  alone  and  said,  in  jerky, 
tremulous  tones,  "  Say,  which  do  you  think  will 
win?  "  This  was  before  the  crowd  was  put  out. 
That  was  the  funniest  thing  of  all — the  way 
Cunningham  put  the  crowd  out.  "  Dash  it !  I 
wish  to  dash  you  fellows  would  dash  quickly  get 
to  dash  out  of  here.  This  is  my  room  and,  dash 
it  all,  I  loaned  it  to  the  dash  freshmen  spreers 
and  not  to  the  whole  dash  college,  dash  it ! " 
That  was  so  funny  that  Hill  let  loose  his  huge 
laugh  and  filled  up  the  room  with  it.  This 
11 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


caused  the  other  freshmen  to  look  at  one  an 
other  and  smile  pityingly.  But  Hill  did  not 
notice  it. 

The  other  freshmen  had  little  in  common 
with  Hill.  It  was  not  so  much  because  he  was 
uncouth  as  that  he  had  no  class  spirit.  He  had 
entered  college  two  clays  late,  and  those  two 
days  are  like  two  years  in  some  respects.  Ho 
had  missed  the  class  meeting,  where  freshmen 
get  a  first  sight  of  one  another  which  lasts 
always,  and  he  had  missed  the  class  rush  about 
the  cannon,  where  freshmen  are  so  closely 
pressed  together  that  they  never  after  get  quite 
apart.  But  the  farmer  should  have  wakened  up 
by  this  time.  Lack  of  class  spirit  is  never  par 
donable.  This  is  the  way  Hill  happened  to  be 
here  this  evening. 

One  day  early  in  the  term,  as  he  was  pushing 
his  big  chest  across  the  campus  to  recitation,  he 
heard  someone  call :  "  Hold  up,  there,  you  big 
freshman! "  So  he  smiled  and  took  off  his  ugly 
derby  hat. 

"No,  I'm  not  a  sophomore;  I'm  a  junior," 
said  the  stranger,  who  then  explained  that  he 
wanted  to  talk  to  him.  "  You  come  to  my  room 
at  one  o'clock,  and  don't  forget  about  it,"  said 
the  junior.  "Kun  along,  now;  the  bell  is  stop 
ping." 

12 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


Hill  came,  and  found  several  other  fresh 
men  there.  "Take  hold  of  this  stick,"  said 
the  junior. 

He  put  his  big  fists  about  it  and  found  him 
self  flying  across  the  room.  He  landed  against 
the  door  and  beside  him  lay  a  table,  which  never 
arose. 

"Now,  that  is  cane-spreeing,"  said  the  junior 
casually,  as  one  would  say,  "Down  there  is 
the  new  Art  building,"  "and  I  want  all  you 
fellosvs  to  meet  me  at  eight  o'clock  back  of 
chapel." 

That  night  they  gave  Hill  a  cane  and  said, 
"  Take  hold  of  this  and  don't  let  go."  He  held 
it  for  an  hour  against  every  one  except  the 
junior  that  was  sophomore  heavy  weight  the 
previous  year.  But  he  had  never  yet  been  quick 
enough  to  take  it  away  from  anyone,  even  the 
light  weights.  And  that  was  the  reason  he  was 
a  substitute  waiting  in  Montie  Cunningham's 
room  wrapped  in  two  sweaters  and  a  blanket. 
His  eyes  were  closed  and  he  was  thinking  about 
what  a  bully  time  his  younger  brother  Ike  must 
be  having  among  the  chestnuts  this  month. 

The  big  leather  chair  was  soft  and  he  might 
have  fallen  asleep  had  not  at  that  moment  a  tre 
mendous  yell  burst  into  existence  down  below 
— a  loud,  shrill,  fiendish  yell  which  lasted  nearly 

13 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


to  do.  Through  the  window  came  a  sharp 
freshman  cheer  with  "  Runt  Ramsay "  on  the 
end. 

Meanwhile  the  middle  weight  had  stripped  to 
the  waist.  He  was  bending  forward  with  his 
forearms  upon  the  mantel-piece  and  his  forehead 
resting  on  them,  as  one  bows  during  prayers  in 
chapel.  TAVO  men  were  vigorously  rubbing  his 
long  strong  back  with  whiskey.  The  coach  was 
standing  beside  him,  giving  final  admonitions  in 
a  quick,  tense  manner.  "  Now,  if  he  does  this, 
you  do  this.  See  ?  He  can't  get  you  on  that 
shoulder-throw  of  his.  And  if  he  tries  this 
trick  you  know  how  to  meet  it.  Why,  you  can 
do  him  dead  easy.  I  won  from  him  last  year, 
and  you  can  take  it  away  from  me,"  and  so  on. 
As  they  started  from  the  room,  he  added,  "  Now 
remember  your  whole  class  is  watching  you 

and "  But  the  door  closed  and  they  hurried 

down  the  stairs,  and  in  a  moment  the  wild 
cheering  announced  their  entrance  in  the  ring. 
Hill  was  sorry,  because  he  thought  it  right 
fanny. 

He  went  out  on  the  balcony  and  looked  down 
on  the  crowd.  The  noise  and  the  moonlight 
and  the  specks  of  cigarlight  had  a  grotesque 
effect.  He  had  never  seen  anything  like  it  be 
fore. 

16 


The  Winning  of  tbe  Cane 


"  Oh,  cork  up  that  laugh,  Farmer  Hill,"  said 
Bushforth,  the  heavy  weight,  who  was  also  cen 
tre  of  the  freshman  team  and  had  a  right  to  pat 
ronize.  "  It's  bad  enough  as  it  is,  without  that 
bark  of  yours." 

Hill  stopped  laughing.  He  grinned  instead. 
His  feelings  were  not  hurt.  He  had  none. 

Again  the  cheering  was  hushed.  It  was  so 
still  that  those  on  the  balcony  might  have  heard 
the  hard  breathing  or  the  whimpering  of  the 
freshman  on  the  bed.  The  farmer  heard  it  and 
went  inside. 

The  liquor  and  exercise  had  made  Ramsay 
warm.  He  had  thrown  off  the  blankets  and  lay 
half  naked  with  his  hands  clasped  across  his 
eyes.  Drops  of  sweat  were  running  off  his  pal 
pitating  chest.  Hill  looked  at  his  prettily  de 
veloped  arms  and  at  the  slender,  well-turned 
wrist  and  at  the  tough  little  hands,  which,  Hill 
decided,  had  never  done  much  farm  work. 
Then  because  he  liked  what  he  saw,  he  laughed. 

The  light  weight  uncovered  one  eye  and 
then  covered  it  again. 

"  There,  there,"  said  the  farmer,  patting  the 
black  curly  hair,  which  looked  "  pretty"  against 
the  white  pillow.  "  I  wouldn't  take  on  so,  little 
one,  we'll  get  some  of  those  canes  yet." 

Brandy  and  defeat  had  made  Ramsay  cross. 

17 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


He  said :  "  Oh,  go  to  the  devil,  won't  you 
please  ?  " 

"All  right,"  replied  the  big  fellow.  "On 
ly  you'll  catch  cold  that  way.  Let  me  fix 
them."  He  carefully  tucked  the  blankets  around 
his  classmate,  who  said,  "  That's  so.  Much 
obliged."  Hill  smiled  at  his  uncomfortable 
tone. 

When,  after  seven  hard-fought  rounds,  Mur 
ray,  the  middle  weight,  was  brought  up  breath 
less  and  caneless,  there  was  great  discourage 
ment  in  the  freshman  camp.  The  middle 
weight  was  the  one  above  all  others  upon 
whom  they  had  relied  to  defend  the  honor  of 
the  class.  Murray,  the  long-winded,  himself 
had  felt  confident  of  winning  ;  and  probably  he 
would  have  by  sheer  endurance  had  not  the 
sophomore  taken  him  unawares  by  a  very  easy 
finger  trick  as  they  lay  together  on  the  ground 
resting. 

But  it  was  all  over  now,  and  the  middle  weight 
was  stretched  out  on  the  bed  beside  Ramsay. 
He  had  not,  however,  fainted,  and  he  was  sul 
lenly  chewing  a  piece  of  gum  he  had  had  in  his 
mouth  during  the  struggle.  He  looked  uncon 
cerned.  He  made  no  excuses  to  those  who  told 
what  a  nervy  fight  he  had  made. 

All   the   week   previous  the   betting    on  the 

18 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


heavy  weight  had  been  two  to  one  on  the  sopho 
more.  But  now  three  seniors  from  the  enemy's 
camp  swaggered  into  the  room  shouting,  "  Here's 
four  to  one  on  Parker.  Who  wants  it  ?  Why 
don't  you  back  your  man  ?  "  They  smiled  at 
the  junior  coachers.  "  Drake  don't  want  any  of 
it,"  said  another,  in  a  dry  tone ;  "  he  knows 
Parker  too  well." 

Drake  was  the  man  who  met  Parker,  unsuc 
cessfully,  the  year  before.  "  Wait  a  moment," 
he  said.  His  sporting  blood  was  stirred.  "  I'll 
take  all  you  have,  at  four  to  one.  Charlie,  will 
you  hold  it,  please  ?  " 

All  of  this  must  have  been  soothing  to  the 
nerves  of  the  freshman  heavy  weight  who  was 
taking  off  his  clothes  for  a  final  rub  and  try 
ing  not  to  hear  the  class  cheers  outside. 

"  Now  then,"  said  Montie  Cunningham,  slam 
ming  the  door  as  the  seniors  hurried  down 
the  stairs,  "  this  thing's  got  to  stop  right  here." 
He  brought  a  baseball  bat  down  on  the  table 
so  hard  that  every  one  stopped  talking  and 
looked  up.  "You've  simply  got  to  win  that 
cane.  If  those  dash  sophomores  win  all  three 
they'll  crow  over  you  for  the  rest  of  their 
course.  They  are  arrogant  enough  already, 
dash  them.  And  you  fellows  will  be  disgraced 
forever,  and  your  class  will  be  handed  down 

19 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


in  history  as  no  good.  People  will  refer  to 
you  as  a  class  who  lost  all  three  canes.  This  is  a 
crisis  in  your  history.  You  made  a  good  show 
ing  in  the  rush,  but  you  were  badly  defeated 
in  the  baseball  series.  This  is  the  third  test. 
This  decides  it.  Win  this  cane  and  you  are  all 
right.  One  out  of  three  is  a  defeat,  but  not  a 
disgrace,  because  you  are  only  freshmen.  But 
none  out  of  three  is.  You've  got  to  win  this  cane  !  " 

No  one  uttered  a  sound  for  a  moment.  Far 
mer  Hill  did  not  laugh. 

"  Come  here,  Bushforth,"  said  Drake,  in  a  low, 
solemn  voice;  "I'll  rub  you  myself." 

The  heavy  weight  was  beautifully  built  and 
exceedingly  quick  for  his  size.  He  came  to  col 
lege  with  a  good  prep-school  record  of  centre 
rush.  But  there  was  something  disappointing 
about  him,  and  you  felt  it  every  time  you  saw 
him  move.  You  know  the  kind.  One  of  those  fel 
lows  who  are  splendid  to  look  at  in  a  football 
suit,  and  who  will  always  put  up  a  fair  game  on 
the  scrub,  but  who  are  never  going  to  make  the 
'Varsity. 

Just  now  he  was  biting  his  lip  and  looking 
down  at  his  own  good  legs.  When  he  raised 
his  glance  he  found  Hill  standing  with  arms 
akimbo,  gazing  at  him  with  an  earnest  expres 
sion. 

20 


Tlie  Winning  of  the  Cane 


Bushfortli  smiled  good-humoredly  to  show 
how  cool  he  was. 

"Think  you  can  take  that  cane?"  Hill  asked 
with  a  grin. 

"I  really  don't  know,  Hill,"  answered  the 
beautifully  built  man. 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  take  it  ?  "  repeated  the 
other. 

"  Well,  Hill,  Parker  will  have  to  work  for  it," 
said  the  heavy  weight,  indulgently.  "Why? 
Would  you  like  to  take  my  place  ?  I'd  be  glad 
to  resign  in  your  favor." 

"  All  right,"  said  Hill,  simply.  He  began  pull 
ing  up  his  sweater. 

"  Go  on  and  sit  down  and  stop  your  nonsense." 
It  was  hard  to  stand  horse-play  at  such  a  mo 
ment,  when  your  whole  class  was  cheering  for 
you  outside. 

"  I  ain't  fooling,"  said  the  big  farmer,  with  his 
arms  still  in  the  sweater,  his  head  and  body 
out. 

"  Hurry,  Bush,"  said  one  of  the  juniors  at  the 
window.  "  The  sophs  have  yelled  across  at  me 
that  they  are  ready." 

"All  right,"  said  Bushforth,  lacing  his  Jersey 
as  he  started  for  the  door.  He  forgot  to  answer 
the  other  freshman. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  the  big,  cheerful  voice 

21 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


of  the  farmer,  "I  think  I'll  go  down  this 
time." 

"  Oh,  cork  up,  you  big  cow! "  said  Drake. 

Hill  corked  up  and  then  pushed  Bushforth 
out  of  the  way  and  started  for  the  door. 

"  Will  you  please  go  back  where  you  belong 
and  sit  down  ?  "  said  Drake,  impressively. 

It  failed  to  impress  Hill.  "  Well,  you  see,  it's 
this  wray,"  he  began  pleasantly,  "  he  can't  take 
that  cane,  I'm  afraid.  I  can,  though.  I've  got 
my  blood  up."  He  began  contracting  his  biceps 
playfully.  "  Isn't  it  time  to " 

"Freshman,"  interrupted  Drake,  with  irony, 
"  we  have  chosen  the  heavy  weight  representa 
tive  of  your  class,  and  we  are  of  the  opinion  that 
we  know  about  as  much  of  this  business  as  you 
do.  I  never  heard  of  such  foolishness.  Go  sit 
down,  and  shut  your  big  face.  Your  services 
will  not  be  required  unless  Billy  is  laid  off 
before  he  reaches  the  foot  of  the  entry  stairs. 
Come  on,  Billy." 

"Then,"  Hill  answered,  smilingly,  "I'll  have 
to  lay  him  off."  He  suddenly  grabbed  his  big 
classmate  by  the  shoulders,  jerked  him  back 
into  his  arms,  grasped  him  like  a  bag  of  flour, 
and  hoisted  him  on  his  shoulders  as  if  he  had 
been  one.  "  Now  you  lie  down  there,  and  be  a 
good  boy."  He  dropped  Bushforth,  but  not 

22 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


roughly,  in  the  corner  behind  the  door,  and  then 
looked  beamingly  about  at  the  others  as  though 
he  had  performed  quite  a  feat.  And  so  he  had. 
Bushforth  weighed  one  hundred  and  eighty- 
nine,  stripped. 

Outside  the  crowd  was  yelling  concertedly  in 
quick,  jerky  notes,  "  Shake  it  up !  Shake  it  up ! 
Shake  it  up ! "  and  the  sophomores  were  singing 
"  Where,  oh,  where  are  the  verdant  freshmen  ?  " 
etc.,  "Lost  now  in  the  green,  green  soup."  But 
upstairs  everyone  was  so  tense  and  so  excited  that 
nothing  was  heard  but  the  angry  words  of  the 
coachers  addressed  to  Hill,  wrho  was  grinning. 

Bushforth  arose  from  the  floor  slowly. 

"Shake  it  up,  Billy,"  cried  Drake,  exasper 
ated  ;  "  do  you  want  to  lose  your  cane  by  de 
fault?" 

"  Say,"  replied  Bushforth,  soberly,  "  do  you 
suppose  there's  anything  the  matter  with  this 
hand  ? — Ugh  !  Great  Scott !  don't  squeeze  it." 

Hill  had  not  thrown  him  violently,  but  Bush- 
forth,  in  throwing  out  his  arms  to  stop  himself, 
had  struck  his  left  hand  against  the  wooden 
door-guard  a  few  inches  above  the  floor  behind 
the  door,  and  all  his  weight  was  upon  it.  The 
junior  coach  shut  his  eyes,  dropped  into  Hill's 
big  chair,  and  let  his  arms  fall  down  to  his 
sides.  Everyone  looked  at  him.  "  That  settles 

23 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


it,"  he  gasped.  "  Billy's  hand  is  sprained. 
Let's  give  up  the  cane  by  default  and " 

"Is  it  sprained  ?  "  interrupted  Hill,  removing 
his  smile  suddenly.  "  I'm  sorry  I  hurt  his  hand. 
I  did  not  intend  that — Mr.  Bushforth,  I  beg 
your  pardon.  I  just  wanted  to  show  these 
fellows  how  strong  I  was.  I  didn't  think  I  had 
a  fair  trial  at  spreeing.  And  now,  Drake, 
don't  you  think  we  had  better  go  down  ?  They 
are  clamoring  down  there.  Are  you  coming  ?  " 

His  tones  were  very  deliberate  and  his  man 
ner  so  calm  in  contrast  to  the  boiling  condition 
of  the  others,  that  everyone  seemed  stunned 
for  a  moment.  They  only  looked  at  one 
another. 

"  Shake  it  up  !  Shake  it  up  !  Shake  it  up  !  " 
came  from  the  crowd  below,  and  just  then  two 
representatives  from  the  sophomores  came  run 
ning  up  the  stairs,  shouting,  "  Say,  if  you  fellows 
don't  wish  to  lose  this  by  default  come  right 
now.  Everyone's  tired  of  waiting." 

"Don't  get  excited,"  Drake  shouted  back. 
"  Bushforth  met  with  an  accident  and  the  sub 
is  going  to  take  his  place.  Come  on,  Hill."  It 
was  the  only  thing  to  do. 

Hill  saw  the  eyes  of  the  two  seniors  brighten 
at  the  news,  and  heard  his  own  classmates  in 
the  room  cursing  him.  He  said  to  himself, 

24 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


"  Now  then,  I  guess  I've  got  to  do  something 
this  evening,"  and  followed  Drake  down  the 
stairs. 

"  You're  stronger  than  he  is.  He's  all  bluff. 
You'll  do  him  dead  easily,"  the  two  coachers 
were  saying  as  heartily  as  they  could.  Hill  did 
not  reply.  They  crossed  the  light  from  the  entry 
door.  A  strong  cheer  went  up  for  Bushforth. 
Hill  laughed.  The  coachers  shivered. 

Before  they  had  pushed  their  way  through 
the  crowd  to  the  ring,  word  went  around  that  at 
the  last  moment  Bushforth  was  laid  off,  and 
that  a  big  sub  named  Hill  had  taken  his  place. 
Few  had  ever  heard  the  name.  The  freshmen 
groaned ;  Hill  heard  it. 

As  they  emerged  into  the  ring,  he  heard  a 
strange  voice  saying,  "Why,  he's  that  great 
big  awkward  chap  the  sophs  guy  so  much,  don't 
you  remember  ?  "  Again  Hill  laughed. 

"  That's  all  right,"  whispered  one  of  the 
juniors  as  he  helped  him  off  with  his  sweater. 
"  You  go  in  and  win  this  cane,  and  your  class  will 
give  you  anything  you  want.  Keep  cool  now, 
and  remember  what  you  have  learned." 

The  farmer's  big  deformity-like  shoulders 
looked  more  huge  than  ever  in  the  thin,  white 
jersey  as  he  now  straightened  up  in  the  moon 
light. 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


"  'Bay  !  'Kay !  'Bay  !  Tiger,  Siss,  Boom,  Ah ! 
Hill."  It  rang  out  sharply  on  the  frosty  air. 
Then  came  a  long  cheer  and  then  more  short 
ones,  with  "  Hill  "  on  the  end  of  them. 

There  is  a  peculiar  thrill  at  the  sound  of  one's 
own  name  shouted  by  a  hundred  voices  on  the 
end  of  a  cheer.  Hill  felt  it.  He  liked  the  feel 
ing.  "  Now  that  means  me,"  he  said  to  himself, 
and  he  recalled  what  Drake  had  said  to  the 
middle  weight:  "Now  remember,  your  whole 
class  is  watching  you."  It  was  in  that  moment 
that  Hill  caught  class  spirit. 

The  heavy  weight  spree  was  usually  the  short 
est  and  most  exciting  contest  of  the  evening. 
Everyone  eagerly  pressed  forward  on  the  wet 
grass. 

The  sophomores  were  barking  and  guying 
and  quacking  exultingly.  The  freshmen  were 
cheering  hard. 

"Get  ready,  boys,"  said  Jim,  the  athletic 
trainer,  acting  as  referee.  He  held  out  the 
stick. 

The  sophomore  ran  out  briskly.  Hill  spat  on 
his  hands  and  took  his  time  about  it.  They 
grasped  the  cane.  "Down  in  front,  please  /"  a 
voice  pleaded.  The  cheering  had  ceased  as 
suddenly  as  you  turn  off  the  gas. 

Hill  was  cool.     He  looked  about  at  the  theatre 

26 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


of  faces  on  all  sides.  Just  over  the  sophomore's 
shoulder,  down  on  the  ground  with  moonlight 
on  his  face,  he  spied  an  important-looking  senior, 
with  glasses,  who  on  the  campus  had  always 
seemed  oblivious  to  the  existence  of  freshmen. 
He  was  rocking  back  and  forth  and  chewing  a 
cold  cigar  to  bits. 

"Are  you  ready,  Hill  ?  " 

The  freshman  spread  his  legs  apart  and  said, 
"Yep." 

"Ready,  Parker?" 

"  Yes." 

A  ghastly  silent  second.     "  Spree  !  " 

As  the  referee  spoke  the  word,  Hill  felt  the 
sophomore  drop.  He  knew  what  was  coming. 
Over  his  opponent's  head  he  went  sprawling  on 
the  grass,  as  he  expected.  But  just  then,  in  some 
manner,  quick  as  a  flash,  Parker  doubled  and 
threw  both  legs  in  between  Hill's  body  and  the 
cane,  and  began,  with  all  his  strength,  to  strain, 
and  push,  and  wrench. 

Hill  had  expected  something,  and  thought  he 
was  guarding  against  it.  But  this  was  a  new 
trick — a  variation  on  the  old  one — which  the 
sophomore  had  invented  himself. 

Now,  if  it  had  been  an  ordinary  man,  with 
ordinary  Christian  shoulders,  the  strain  would 
have  been  too  great,  and  the  sophomore  would 

27 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


have  won  the  cane  in  ten  seconds,  as  he  countc  d 
011  doing. 

But  you  see  Hill  was  somewhat  deformed  as 
to  his  shoulders.  He  grunted  and  clung  on,  and 
the  sophomore's  coachers  were  yelling  fiend 
ishly:  "You've  got  him,  Park!  you've  got 
him ! " 

The  next  instant,  while  the  sophomore  was 
trying  to  better  his  advantage,  Hill  quietly 
turned,  slipped  out  of  the  perilous  position,  and 
drew  himself  up  close  to  the  sophomore's  body. 
He  lay  there  panting,  while  his  coachers  cried, 
joyfully  :  "  Good  one,  Hill !  good  one  !  "  and  his 
classmates  left  off  feeling  sick  at  their  stomachs, 
and  began  to  cheer  him  by  name.  This  he  did 
not  hear. 

He  had  been  taken  by  surprise  at  the  fall, 
but  now  he  was  entirely  alive  to  what  he  was 
about.  Every  nerve  was  at  tension,  each  muscle 
set  at  hair-trigger.  There  was  just  one  thing  in 
all  the  world  to  him  now,  and  that  was  the  cane. 
And  when,  a  moment  later,  Parker  began  a  quick 
series  of  furious  jerks,  back  and  forth  and  side- 
wise,  Hill  said,  half  aloud :  "  No,  you  don't,  old 
man,"  and  smiled  confidently  to  himself  as  he 
felt  how  firm  the  cane  was  in  his  hand. 

The  sophomore,  on  top,  now  tried  working 
Hill's  hands  off  with  his  fingers.  But  the  fresh- 

28 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


man  had  lived  on  a  farm  all  his  life.  Then  he 
tried  something  with  his  legs.  But  Hill's  big 
supports  were  as  hard  as  the  columns  of  Whig 
Hall,  though  not  as  symmetrical.  Then,  wait 
ing  awhile,  he  tried  to  surprise  Hill  with  more 
quick,  sharp  wrenches.  It  was  unsuccessful.  He 
waited,  and  tried  it  again.  Then  time  was 
called.  The  two  class-cheers  burst  forth  simul 
taneously. 

The  contestants  were  dragged  to  their  respect 
ive  corners,  wrapped  with  blankets,  and  sponged 
with  water. 

During  the  interval,  a  buzz  of  voices  began 
suddenly,  as  in  a  racing  grand-stand  after  the 
winner  has  been  announced.  The  college  had 
expected  an  easy  thing  for  Parker,  the  cham 
pion,  and  when  they  heard  of  Bushforth's  ab 
sence,  they  were  sure  of  it.  Everyone  was  say 
ing  :  "  Who  is  this  Hill  ?  Hasn't  he  shoulders ! 
Wasn't  that  a  narrow  hole  he  crawled  out  of  ?  " 

The  coachers  were  whispering,  "  You're  doing 
well,  Hill.  Stick  to  him,  and  you'll  get  him  yet. 
You'll  tire  him  out." 

Two  or  three  freshmen  came  into  the  ring  and 
snook  Hill's  hand,  saying,  nervously,  "  Good  boy, 
Hill,  good  one."  He  was  already  a  distin 
guished  man,  having  held  the  cane  for  a  round 
against  Parker.  But  Hill  only  grinned  and  had 

29 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


his  own  opinion.  The  honor  of  the  class  de 
pended  upon  him.  He  thought  he  was  going  to 
win  the  cane. 

When  the  referee  called  them  up,  one  of  the 
sophomore's  coaches  called  out,  in  an  easy  tone, 
"  Remember,  now,"  and  Parker  replied,  in  a  cool 
way,  "  Very  well."  The  silence  was  worse  than 
ever.  People  felt  that  this  would  be  the  last 
round. 

The  two  spreers  were  the  coolest  on  the  cam 
pus.  But  they  also  felt  that  this  would  settle 
it,  and  as  they  grasped  the  cane  each  looked 
the  other  over  and  then  gazed  straight  into  his 
enemy's  eye.  Very  much,  no  doubt,  as  knights 
of  old  used  to  size  each  other  up  before  they  fell 
to  cutting  each  other  to  bits,  of  a  quiet  afternoon 
by  the  sea-side. 

Hill  did  not  like  Parker,  nor  would  he  have 
fancied  him  even  if  the  sophomore  had  not  been 
a  brutal  and  unreasonable  hazer.  However,  he 
appreciated  his  athletic  abilities,  and  even  in  the 
tense  moment  of  waiting  for  the  referee's  word, 
he  could  not  help  admiring  the  way  his  oppo 
nent's  neck  fitted  his  body,  and  the  clean  cut  of 
his  limbs,  which  Hill  himself  so  lacked. 

The  sophomore  looked  him  back  in  the  eyes, 
and  said,  sneeringly,  "  You  damned  fresh 
man  ! "  which  was  entirely  uncalled  for. 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


When  the  word  was  given  both  kept  their 
feet  for  a  few  minutes.  They  held  their  arms 
down  stiff,  keeping  the  cane  close  to  their  bodies 
in  order  to  prevent  the  other  from  jumping  in 
between.  Neither  seemed  inclined  to  begin  the 
attack,  and  they  danced  cautiously  about  the 
circle  with  their  faces  close  together.  There  was 
something  impressive  in  the  sight  of  these  two, 
pounding  abotit  in  the  moonlight.  They  were  so 
ponderous,  and  it  all  seemed  to  mean  so  much. 
Parker  tried  the  right  hip  throw. 

He  was  partially  successful.  They  were  both 
on  the  ground  now,  and  the  tinier  snapped  his 
stop  watch.  Time  is  not  counted  when  the  men 
are  erect. 

The  sophomore  was  on  top  again.  Again 
he  tried  his  jerking  manoeuvres,  and  again 
Hill  smiled  to  himself  and  thought,  "I  guess 
not." 

He  lay  perfectly  still  on  the  wet  grass,  as  if 
comfortable  and  quite  content  to  remain  there. 
He  heard  a  voice  from  the  crowd  say,  "  Spread 
out,  you  coachers.  Give  us  a  show."  He  could 
feel  the  sophomore's  breath  on  his  neck  and  the 
beating  of  the  heart  against  his  back.  He  felt 
the  cool  wet  grass  on  his  cheek  flattened  against 
it,  and  he  became  aware  that  his  nose  was  bleed 
ing,  and  then  said  to  himself,  "  Oh,  yes  ;  I  must 

31 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


have  bumped  that  on  Parker's  elbow  when  Ave 
came  down." 

Now,  up  to  tMs  point,  the  freshman  had  been 
on  the  defensive  entirely,  and  he  had  been  so 
successful  that  one  of  the  coachers  began  giving 
the  signals  to  begin  a  little  offensive  work. 
"No,  no,  Hammie,"  cried  Drake.  "Let  good 
enough  alone." 

Hill  had  regained  his  wind  by  this  time. 
"  Please  don't  bother  me,"  he  said,  in  a  muffled 
tone.  "  I'm  doing  this  thing.  I'll  get  this  cane 
in  a  minute."  This  was  loud  enough  for  some 
of  those  in  the  crowd  to  hear.  Somehow  it 
sounded  horrible. 

And  it  seemed  to  enrage  Parker.  He  began 
a  furious  onslaught,  as  if  he  were  tired  of  play 
ing  with  a  freshman  so  long  and  meant  to  end 
the  thing  right  there. 

He  wrenched  and  jerked  this  way,  he  tugged 
and  pulled  that  way,  he  turned  over  and  then 
back,  he  tried  all  the  manoeuvres  he  knew,  and 
took  desperate  chances,  which  the  freshman  was 
too  slow  to  take  advantage  of.  Twice  the 
sophomore  seemed  to  have  the  cane,  and  the 
freshman  still  held  on.  It  was  a  battle  of  giants, 
and  those  that  were  there  will  never  forget  it. 

And  while  they  struggled,  now  one  on  top  and 
now  the  other,  they  rolled  over  to  the  extreme 

32 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


lower  part  of  the  circle  toward  the  path  leading 
to  the  railway  station.  That  part  of  the  audience 
fell  back.  The  ring  broke.  Some  closed  in 
around  them. 

Then,  while  the  referee  was  shouting,  "  Get 
back !  Get  back !  "  the  freshman  was  suddenly 
seen  to  rise  on  his  knees  yelling  shrilly,  like  a 
wild  beast  in  pain.  "  You  would  bite  me,  would 

you,  you ."  He  sprang  to  his  feet.  The 

blood  from  his  nose  was  smeared  all  over  his 
face.  A  furious  wrench  jerked  Parker  from  the 
ground.  With  what  was  extraordinary  power 
Hill  whirled  him ;  part  of  the  way  the  feet 
dragged,  though  some  like  to  tell  that  the  whole 
of  Parker  was  clean  in  the  air  all  the  way  round  ; 
he  whirled  him  about,  as  you  would  whirl  a  pil 
low  with  both  arms ;  then,  suddenly  reversing 
all  his  big  weight  and  simultaneously  twisting 
the  hickory,  he  snapped  the  sophomore  off  in  the 
air  and  lifted  the  cane  high  and  dry  above  his 
head.  "  The  freshman  has  it,"  shrieked  a  shrill 
voice. 

He  felt  himself  grabbed,  he  heard  many 
noises,  he  went  up,  up  in  the  air,  and  then  he 
forgot. 

The  big  leather  chair  was  the  first  thing  he 
saw,  and  he  knew  he  was  in  the  Witherspoon 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 

room  again.  Then  he  heard  many  voices  talking 
at  once.  He  remembered  now  that  he  had  been 
hearing  them  for  ages.  They  echoed  inside  his 
head  some  place. 

"  Are  you  all  right  now  ?  " 

He  raised  his  lids  a  little  higher  and  there 
was  Drake  bending  over  him  as  tenderly  as  a 
mother. 

"I  think  you  ought  to  know,  you  great  big 
awkward  old  farmer,  that  you  saved  the  day  for 
us."  Drake  looked  as  delighted  as  if  he  had 
done  it  himself. 

"  I've  seen  a  good  many  sprees,"  said  another 
voice  near  his  head,  which  Hill  had  never  heard 
before,  "  but  that  was  the  finest  thing  I  ever 
saw ;  and  I'm  blame  glad  you  did  him,  though  I 
am  a  senior  and  lost  twenty-five  bats  on  it." 
Hill  moved  his  head  and  saw  the  important- 
looking  senior  with  glasses. 

The,  farmer  now  laughed  his  hideous  laugh. 
That  showed  he  was  all  right. 

One  of  the  sophomore  coachers  approached 
the  bed,  and  after  looking  up  and  down  Hill's 
bulk  a  moment,  said  :  "  The  trouble  with  you, 
you  big  freshman,  is  that  you  don't  know  when 
you're  beaten.  My  man  had  that  cane  twice, 
but  you  wouldn't  let  go." 

"  Well,  that's  Princeton  spirit,  isn't  it  ?  "  re- 

34 


The  Winning  of  the  Cane 


marked  the  'Varsity  Captain,  who  had  something 
to  say  to  Hill  later  on. 

Eamsay,  the  light  weight,  came  running  up 
the  entry  three  steps  at  a  time.  He  had  been 
leading  cheers  for  Hill  out-doors  and  now  he 
began  hugging  him.  "  Oh,  farmer,  you're  a 
dandy.  Give  me  your  hand." 

But  when  the  farmer  raised  his  hand  he  found 
the  cane  was  still  in  it.  "  Here,  little  one,  you 
can  have  this.  I've  had  my  fun  out  of  it." 
This  showed  how  green  he  was. 

"  No,"  said  Eamsay ;  "  you're  to  keep  that  for 
ever.  What  did  you  win  it  for,  anyway  ?  " 

As  a  matter  of  fact  winning  the  spree  meant 
much  more  to  the  big  placid  farmer  than  a  hick 
ory  cane  to  hang  with  ribbons  over  his  mantel 
piece,  and  more  than  a  bit  of  fame  in  another 
kind  of  athletics,  too.  Much  more.  As  we  all 
know  now. 


85 


THE   MADNESS   OF   POLER   STACY 


THE  MADNESS  OF  POLER  STACY 

IN  freshman  year  they  say,  "  Are  you  ready  to 
feed  your  face  ?  "  instead  of  "  Are  you  going 
to  dinner  ?  "  and  at  the  eating  clubs  they  call 
the  milk-pitcher  the  "cow,"  and  shout  "Butter 
me,  please,"  when  they  wish  the  butter  handed 
to  them.  All  their  desires  and  opinions  they  ex 
press  in  variously  bold  and  vulgar  metaphors, 
which  are  witty.  This  is  because  there  is  no 
one  to  tell  them  they  must  not.  The  boy  is  a 
college  man  now.  He  is  free  from  the  restraint 
of  home  or  school  or  both,  and  he  doesn't  know 
quite  what  to  do  with  his  liberty. 

Like  a  young  town  horse  turned  loose  for  the 
first  time  in  the  open  green  of  the  country,  he 
sometimes  loses  his  head  and  frisks  and  snorts 
and  kicks  up  his  heels  to  an  unbecoming  degree. 
This  is  a  way  of  saying  that  every  once  in  a 
while  some  little  boy  (the  strictly  reared  kind, 
usually),  in  his  eagerness  to  show  his  fellows 
how  reckless  and  devilish  he  is,  goes  so  far  that 
he  never  comes  quite  back.  Others  dissipate 
merely  to  the  extent  of  cutting  chapel  twice  in 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


succession  or  pretending*  that  they  have  not 
poled  all  night  for  an  examination.  In  still 
others  it  breaks  out  in  a  different  form,  and  they 
persuade  themselves  that  they  are  naughty 
cynics  or  bold,  bad  agnostics.  But  that  will  do 
for  that. 

The  point  is  this  :  Sooner  or  later,  in  some 
form  or  another,  this  spirit  is  bound  to  get  hold 
of  every  young  man  who  is  worthy  of  the  name, 
and,  like  measles  or  calf-love,  it  is  better  to  have 
it  sooner.  In  the  very  young  it  is  interesting. 
After  that  it  is  not.  And  the  older  one  is  when 
it  comes,  the  more  he  reminds  the  onlookers  of 
the  frolicksome  antics  of  some  ancient,  mis 
guided  cow,  or  of  a  kittenish  summer  girl,  aged 
twenty-eight.  When  seen  in  a  poler  it  is  pa 
thetic. 

At  his  first  eating  club  in  freshman  year,  H. 
Stacy  felt  himself  snubbed  from  the  start ;  and 
when  the  crowd,  which  was  not  slow,  became 
well  enough  acquainted  with  one  another  and 
with  the  glorious  freedom  of  college  life  to  pour 
syrup  down  their  neighbors'  backs  and  to  hurl 
fried  eggs  and  coarse  jokes  about  the  table,  little 
Stacy,  although  he  always  said,  "  That  was  a 
pretty  good  shot,"  and  wiped  the  potato  from 
his  ear  with  a  noisy  laugh,  saw  that  he  was  not 

40 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


in  his  own  element,  which  he  should  have  seen 
a  month  before,  and  got  out. 

He  joined  a  club  of  a  very  different  sort  of 
freshmen,  who  were  too  busy  speculating  upon 
their  chances  at  the  approaching  Divisional 
Examinations  to  invent  names  for  tough  beef 
steak,  or  learn  what  was  going  on  in  Trenton 
at  the  theatres  and  other  places. 

This  Avas  his  element.  He  drew  in  long,  full 
breaths  of  freedom  and  sunshine,  and  told  him 
self  that  now  he  knew  what  was  meant  by  the 
Joy  of  College  Life. 

Here  he  settled  down  to  the  methodical  poler 
habits  he  was  intended  for,  and  when  the  next 
catalogue  was  issued  his  mother  and  sister 
pointed  out  to  the  minister's  wife  the  name  of 
"Horatio  B.  Stacy,  New  Jersey,"  in  the  small 
group  of  names  called  "  First  Group,"  and  said, 
"  "We  knew  he  would  do  it."  In  his  sophomore 
year  he  did  it  again  and  won  a  prize  or  two  be 
sides  and  became  a  minor  light  in  the  Cliosophic 
Society,  and  by  this  time  he  held  in  that  Hall 
an  office,  the  name  of  which  was  a  secret,  and 
could  not  be  divulged  even  to  his  sister  Fannie. 
He  studied  for  high  marks  and  was  called  a 
"greasy  poler."  But  he  got  the  high  marks. 

You  must  not  think  he  had  no  friends.  He 
made  some  firm  ones.  About  these  he  could 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


write  home  to  his  sister  Fannie,  telling  what 
magnificent  characters  some  of  them  were. 
Often  of  a  Saturday  night,  if  he  had  no  essays  to 
write  or  debates  to  prepare,  he  slipped  off  his 
eye-shades  and  pattered  across  the  campus  to 
his  friends'  rooms  and  knocked  gently  and  said, 
"  How  do  ?  "  and  conversed  for  an  hour  on  the 
difficulty  of  taking  notes  when  your  neighbor 
is  borrowing  your  knife,  or  about  the  elective 
courses  for  the  next  term.  And  down  at  the 
club  they  had  great  horse  calling  each  other 
"  Blamed  Neo-Platonists "  and  "  Doggoned 
Transcendentalists."  Nor  was  it  all  shop.  One 
of  them  thought  himself  in  love.  It  was  Stacy 
that  used  to  wink  at  the  others  and  bob  his 
head  and  say,  "  I  know  some  one  who  got  a  let 
ter  to-day."  They  had  great  fun  at  the  club. 

By  reason  of  his  freshman  year's  disgust  he 
remained  innocent,  which  was  right,  and  igno 
rant,  which  was  wrong,  of  much  that  he  might 
have  experienced,  and  he  bade  fair  to  graduate  a 
typical  poler  with  a  bad  breath  and  an  eye  on 
Commencement  stage  and  special  honors.  Some 
times,  to  be  sure,  dark  questions  arose  in  his 
mind,  strange,  shameful  yearnings  that  caused 
him  to  read  whole  pages  without  taking  in  a  word 
of  it.  But  then,  all  polers  have  wild  moments 
when  they  feel  that  they  would  rather  play  on 

43 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


the  team  thau  win  the  Stinuecke  Scholarship,  so 
Stacy  should  not  have  been  distressed. 

But  sometimes  it  seemed  to  him  that  even 
those  classmates  whom  he  knew  only  slightly 
and  did  not  understand  at  all,  those  fellows  who 
seemed  to  do  nothing  but  loaf  about  the  campus 
all  day  and  sing  and  shout  at  night,  while  he  was 
running  his  hands  through  his  hair  and  his  eyes 
through  Kant's  "  Critique  of  Pure  Reason,"  they, 
it  seemed  to  him,  were  getting  a  poetry  out  of 
college  life  that  he  was  missing,  "But  never 
mind,"  he  would  say  to  himself,  "They  will 
regret  it  some  day.  They  will  wish  they  had 
done  as  I  am  doing,  instead  of  wasting  golden 
opportunities  which  come  but  once  and  which 
glide  by  like  ships  upon  the  sea  of  life."  Then 
he  would  pull  his  hair  and  start  at  the  top  of  the 
page  again.  It  is  better  to  have  First  Group 
than  the  Glee  Club. 

But  there  were  some  fellows  who  could  do 
both.  Some  fellows  stood  high  in  the  class  and 
were  in  with  everybody  besides.  Why  could 
not  he  be  like  that  ?  This  question  came  to  him 
quite  suddenly  in  junior  year,  and  he  tipped  his 
head  to  one  side  and  began  to  think  about  it. 
He  kept  on  thinking. 

He  was  still  thinking  about  it  one  Sunday 
afternoon  in  chapel  when  big  Jack  Stehman,  the 

43 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


tackle,  came  stalking  down  the  aisles  and  threw 
himself  down  beside  Stacy,  and  the  oak  creaked. 
He  was  fresh  and  clean  and  rosy  from  a  long 
'cross  country  tramp,  and  he  said,  "  Hello,  Stace," 
in  a  hearty  whisper.  It  was  not  from  policy 
like  the  smiling  hello  of  a  man  a  few  pews  in 
front,  but  because  he  felt  like  it.  Stacy  enjoyed 
being  saluted  in  that  way,  and  if  the  big  fellow 
grabbed  and  pinched  his  thin  leg  he  would  beam 
for  the  rest  of  the  hour,  even  though  he  found  a 
blue  spot  there  at  night  when  he  undressed  in 
Edwards  Hall. 

It  was  because  of  his  way  of  saying  hello,  as 
much  as  his  great  football  record,  that  Stehman 
was  one  of  the  most  popular  men  in  college,  and 
nobody  worshipped  him  more  than  did  Stacy, 
not  even  the  freshman  who  gazed  across  the  pews 
and  wondered  what  it  would  be  like  to  be  on 
familiar  terms  with  a  man  of  that  sort.  Stacy 
had  at  one  time  feared  that  there  was  something 
sinful  in  his  own  admiration;  Stehman  was  a 
fourth-group  man. 

He  was  thinking  that  his  big  class-mate  looked 
just  as  strong  and  clean  and  good  as  during  the 
season.  Just  then  Timberly,  in  the  pew  behind, 
lay  hold  of  Stehman's  hair,  drew  his  head  back 
against  the  rail,  and  then  rubbed  his  own  vigor 
ously  against  Stehman's.  "  Little  Jackie's  had 

44 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


his  long  locks  cut,  hasn't  he?"  he  said.  His 
teeth  were  gritted  and  there  was  a  sweet  caress 
in  his  Southern  voice,  for  he  loved  his  good  pal 
Jack  Stehman,  though  he  would  have  called  you 
profane  things  if  you  had  accused  him  of  it. 
Stehman  smiled,  and  said,  "  Let  go,  Timber,  you 
ass,  the  organ  has  stopped." 

Little  Stacy,  watching  this  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  glasses,  said,  solemnly,  "  I'd  give  my  first 
group  for  that,"  and  then  bowed  his  head  in 
prayer.  He  thought  about  it  all  through  the  ser 
vice  instead  of  listening  as  he  should  have  done 
to  a  returned  missionary  who  told  how  many 
widows  there  were  in  India  under  thirteen  years 
of  age,  and  other  interesting  things. 

The  next  day,  when  he  walked  with  Stehman 
from  a  lecture  by  the  Dean  on  Robert  Southey, 
he  tried  to  catch  his  friend's  tone  of  hello.  Jack 
said  it  to  about  fifty  men  between  Dickinson 
Hall  and  Reunion,  and  it  sounded  as  though  he 
were  glad  to  see  everyone  of  them,  and  he  was. 
Stacy  liked  to  be  seen  with  the  big  fellow.  But 
he  did  not  blush  and  keep  silent  as  in  sopho 
more  year  when  he  was  first  permitted  to  walk 
with  him.  He  tried  to  show  everyone  that  he 
was  used  to  it. 

This  time  something  happened.  When  they 
reached  the  place  where  the  stone  walks  meet, 

45 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


in  front  of  South  Keunion,  Stehman  put  a  big 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  said,  "  Stace,  will  you 
dine  with  me  this  evening  ? — Oh,  yes,  you  can. 
I  have  an  engagement  in  Dougal's  room  now.  I'll 
yell  for  you  on  the  way  to  the  club.  So  long." 
Stacy  opened  his  mouth  and  gazed  after  him 
until  out  of  sight.  Then  he  shut  it  and  started 
for  his  room.  This  was  unexpected. 

He  had  often  thought  about  these  large  swell 
clubs  with  their  elective  membership,  and  he 
had  walked  by  the  houses  when  the  members 
were  lounging  out  in  front.  He  had  heard 
snatches  of  songs  and  the  click  of  billiard-balls 
from  within,  and  he  wondered  what  they  did 
and  said  and  how  it  looked  inside.  And  now  he 
was  going  to  see  one  of  them,  the  one  he  ad 
mired  the  most  of  all. 

At  his  own  little  eating  club,  he  and  the  others 
said  that  many  of  the  club  men  were  snobs,  and 
declared  that  they  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  them.  He  wondered  if  his  friends  envied 
them  in  secret,  as  he  did.  At  any  rate  he 
would  not  dread  answering  them  the  next  morn 
ing  when  they  asked,  "  Where  were  you  for 
dinner?" 

When  he  reached  his  room  he  changed  his 
necktie  for  a  more  becoming  one.  At  least  he 
thought  it  was.  And  he  put  on  his  new,  heavy, 

46 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


tan  shoes,  like  those  Stehinan  and  so  many 
fellows  wore.  He  would  show  them  that  he 
knew  things.  Then  he  sat  down  and  wrote  to 
his  sister  Fannie  about  it,  as  he  did  once  before 
with  a  trembling  hand,  when  he  won  that  essay 
prize  in  Hall  arid  came  late  to  dinner  in  conse 
quence,  and  all  the  fellows  cried,  "  Yea-a,  Stacy, 
Sophomore  essay  prize!  "  He  had  pointed  out 
that  club  to  Fannie  when  she  and  his  mother 
came  over  at  Commencement,  and  he  had  told 
her  that  Stehman  was  in  that  one.  She  knew 
who  Stehman  was. 

Stacy  little  imagined  that  he  was  of  so  much 
consequence,  but  Stehman,  the  tackle,  had  been 
talking  about  him  on  Sunday  evening  by  the 
club  fireplace.  Two  of  the  fellows  who  were 
younger  than  juniors  ought  to  be  had  smiled  at 
what  he  said. 

To  them  Jack  turned  with  some  heat,  and 
observed,  "You  fellows  make  me  tired.  You 
aren't  under-class  men  now ;  you're  old  enough 
to  know  better  than  to  size  up  people  by  under 
class  man  standards.  Just  because  Stacy  has 
not  learned  to  swear  or  smoke,  and  because  he 
worries  and  fusses  and  gets  pale  over  what  he 
came  to  college  for,  you  think  you  have  a  right 
to  laugh  at  him.  I  respect  him,  and  I  wish  to 
the  deuce  I  was  more  like  him.  Little  Stacy  is 

47 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


all  right.  And  he'll  be  in  it  all  right  some  of 
these  days,  and  he'll  do  a  great  deal  more  good 
in  the  world  than  most  of  us." 

This  was  the  longest  speech  Jack  Stehman 
had  ever  made,  and  he  was  duly  applauded  and 
guyed  for  it.  But  he  was  serious.  He  had  a 
Sunday  night  sour  on.  It  was  junior  year  for 
Stehman  also,  and  he  too  had  been  coming  to 
some  conclusions  about  his  college  course.  But 
of  a  different  kind. 

It  was  nearly  half  after  six  when  Stacy  heard 
his  friend's  big  voice  echo  across  the  campus.  As 
he  pattered  down  the  stairs  in  his  stiff,  new 
Bluchers,  he  could  not  help  wishing  that  Steh 
man  had  come  a  little  earlier.  Not  that  he  was 
hungry,  but  the  campus  would  then  have  been 
more  crowded,  while  Stehman  called,  "  Hello, 
Hay  Stace." 

As  they  passed  under  the  lamp-post  and  Jack 
said  "Hello"  to  somebody  going  in  the  other 
direction,  Stacy  remembered  how  that  once  he 
would  not  have  believed  that  he  should  ever  be 
walking  as  he  was  now  with  Stehman's  big,  strong 
arm  upon  his  shoulder,  the  same  arm  that  had 
brought  down  many  a  canvas  jacket.  But  that 
was  long  ago. 

When  they  reached  the  club,  Stehman  kicked 
the  mud  from  his  big,  heavy  shoes  on  the  porch 

48 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


steps,  and  Stacy  did  the  same  for  bis  bright  new 
little  ones.  The  door  flew  open  and  the  brightly 
lighted  interior  of  the  club  was  before  them. 
Stacy  caught  a  glimpse  of  an  open  fire  and 
deep,  comfortable  places  to  lounge  in  beside  it, 
and  some  etchings  on  the  wall.  He  heard  knives 
and  forks  and  many  voices,  all  going  at  once, 
and  laughter  and  exclamations.  He  spied  a 
waiter  hurrying  in  with  a  tray  full  of  dishes.  A 
little  nigger  boy,  with  innumerable  buttons  on 
his  jacket,  began  to  help  him  off  Avith  his  over 
coat,  and  just  then  he  heard  one  voice  exclaim 
emphatically,  "Doc.,  I  say  they  can't  do  it," 
and  he  wondered  what  it  was  and  who  could 
not  do  it. 

Stehman  said,  "  Come  over  here  a  moment — 
no,  this  way." 

"Oh,  this  way  ?  "  said  Stacy.  He  was  led  to 
a  large  open  book  with  names  written  on  it. 

"Will  you  give  us  your  distinguished  sig 
nature  ?  "  said  Stehman,  dipping  the  pen  in  ink 
and  handing  it  to  him. 

"Where  shall  I  write — oh,  yes,  of  course." 
Stacy  wondered  how  many  people  would  read 
Horatio  B.  Stacy,  introduced  by  John  Carter 
Stehman. 

Though  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  have 
confidence  he  felt  a  little  flustered.  Perhaps 

49 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


the  voices  of  many  diners  and  the  sight  of 
many  rooms  and  various  passage-ways  and  the 
negro  buttons  were  a  little  too  much  for  him. 
Besides  his  glasses  were  blurred  at  coming  in 
from  the  cold  and  that  always  rattled  him. 

Possibly  his  host  noticed  this,  for  he  said, 
"Boo,  I'm  cold.  Let's  warm  up  before  grub 
bing,"  and  led  him  to  the  fire  and  pushed  him 
into  a  chair  big  enough  to  hold  two  Horatio 
B.  Stacys. 

He  was  perspiring  now,  but  he  held  out  his 
hand  to  the  cheerful  blaze  as  if  to  get  all  he 
could  of  it.  He  looked  at  the  andirons  and 
the  crackling  wood  and  glanced  up  at  the 
etchings.  He  thought,  "  It  must  be  very  fine  to 
have  all  this  every  day." 

"  Well,  do  you  feel  as  though  you  could  eat 
something  ?  "  Stehman  lifted  him  by  the  coat- 
collar. 

Stacy  made  answer,  in  a  familiar  tone,  "  I'm 
ready  any  time  you  are,  Jack,"  and  then  to 
himself,  "  Keep  cool  now." 

Stehman,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  led 
the  way  with  his  slouching  football  walk 
which  the  freshmen  studied  on  the  way  to  reci 
tations.  Stacy  followed.  He  slouched  pretty 
well,  but  his  pockets  were  at  the  very  top  of  his 
trousers,  so  that  his  little  coat  turned  up  behind. 

50 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


They  entered  the  bright,  noisy  dining-room. 
"  Jack,  why  so  late  ?  "  some  one  was  calling  out, 
when  suddenly  there  came,  "Hello,  Stace." 
"Hello,  Bay."  "Hello  there,  Stace."  "How 
do  do,  Stace."  Most  all  of  them  seemed  glad 
to  see  him,  and  he  was  quite  overcome  with  an 
swering  them  all.  Jack  showed  him  where  to  sit. 

After  the  waiter  had  pushed  the  chair  un 
der  him  and  he  had  unfolded  the  napkin  there 
came  in  a  solemn  voice  from  the  end  of  the 
table,  "Horatio,  how  do  you  do  this  evening?  " 

"  Why,  Lint,  old  man,  how  are  you  ?  "  he  re 
turned  quickly  in  a  strong  tone.  Then  he 
smiled  a  little  because  Linton  might  be  guying 
him.  But  he  was  not. 

It  seemed  that  many  eyes  were  upon  him  and 
he  felt  embarrassed  and  strangely  lonely  be 
cause  his  host  had  turned  to  speak  about  some 
thing  to  someone  on  the  other  side.  So  he 
gave  his  glasses  an  unnecessary  rub  and  took 
three  sips  of  water  in  quick  succession. 

The  waiter  placed  the  soup  before  him,  and 
while  he  was  occupied  with  it  he  had  time  to 
gather  himself  together.  Some  of  the  fellows, 
he  noticed  over  his  glasses,  leaned  over  or  else 
slipped  way  down  in  their  chairs  in  the  same 
purposely  reckless  manner  of  under-classmen 
days.  But  he  held  his  little  shoulders  back  and 

51 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


used  liis  spoon  very  daintily.  He  would  show 
them  that  he  had  good  table  manners. 

Stehman  now  began  to  chat  with  him  in  his 
easy  familiar  way.  But  the  big  fellow's  manner 
always  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  was  mindful 
of  how  much  higher  was  Stacy's  class  rank  than 
his  own. 

He  was  more  at  ease  now,  only  whenever  the 
conversation  flagged  he  could  never  think  up 
anything  to  renew  it  with.  He  suspected  that 
he  was  blushing,  and  there  really  was  no  reason 
for  blushing.  These  were  all  his  own  dear 
classmates,  some  of  whom  he  knew  quite  well, 
and  they  all  seemed  kindly  disposed  toward  him 
and  included  him  in  their  general  remarks  and 
even  addressed  him  sometimes  in  particular. 
He  made  up  his  mind  that  he  must  say  some 
thing  to  Dougal  Davis  across  the  table. 

He  took  a  drink  of  water  and  wiped  his  lips 
and  cleared  his  throat  and  spoke.  "  Dougal, 
have  you  poled  up  Billy's  history  for  the  written 
recitation  ?  ' '  Which  was  the  very  sort  of  thing 
he  meant  to  avoid.  But  it  was  too  late  now. 

"No,  but  I  expect  to  put  a  wet  towel  around 
my  head  and  hit  it  up  until  three  o'clock  to 
night,"  Dougal  answered,  sincerely. 

And  Stacy  thought  he  was  joking.  He  there 
fore  laughed,  saying,  "  Like  fun  you  are." 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


He  never  could  tell  when  some  of  these  fellows 
were  in  earnest,  and  Dougal  Davis  Avas  some 
thing  awful  to  him  anyway  because  he  stood 
higher  in  the  class  than  Stacy  himself,  and  yet 
had  time  to  be  mixed  up  with  half  a  dozen  out 
side  interests  of  college  life  and  did  a  comfort 
able  amount  of  loafing  besides. 

"I  suppose  you  have  it  all  down  fine,  Stace?" 
asked  Timberly,  agreeably,  "  and  will  pound  out 
a  first  group  as  usual." 

"Naw,"  boldly  replied  Stacy,  "I've  barely 
looked  at  it.  Don't  intend  to  bother  with  it." 
That  was  the  way  to  talk. 

But  it  was  all  wasted,  for  just  then  Lamason 
came  in  with  a  suit-case  in  his  hand  and  his 
town  clothes  on,  and  everybody  was  crying 
"  Yea-a  "  in  loud,  shrill  tones,  and  some  one  be 
gan  singing  "Oh,  to-day  is  the  day  that  he 
comes  from  the  city,"  and  all  joined  in,  even  lit 
tle  Stacy,  though  he  did  not  know  the  words  and 
blushed  and  closed  his  mouth  again  when  any 
one  looked  in  his  direction. 

Meanwhile  Lamason,  without  smiling,  or  seem 
ing  to  be  aware  of  the  noise,  said,  "Bring  me 
some  dinner,  Henry,  please,"  and  taking  a  Prince- 
toman  from  his  pocket  began  to  read  an  editorial 
on  the  lack  of  lamp-posts  on  the  south  campus, 
and  paid  no  more  attention  to  the  remarks 

53 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


about  his  good-looking  clothes  than  to  Timberly, 
who  was  painstakingly  mussing  up  his  nicely 
brushed  hair.  It  impressed  Stacy.  Except  that 
they  no  longer  considered  it  funny  to  throw 
things  or  to  be  profane  without  necessity,  the 
fellows  seemed  to  be  as  free  and  jolly  as  in  un- 
der-classmen  days.  He  had  supposed  that  there 
would  be  some  dignity  about  a  great  fine  elec 
tive  club  with  white  curtains  at  the  window 
and  a  board  of  governors. 

While  beginning  upon  his  roast  beef  the  waiter 
placed  a  small,  narrow  glass  by  his  plate.  He 
heard  the  "  pop  "  of  a  drawn  cork  behind  him. 
He  had  understood  that  the  club  constitution 
forbade  alcoholic  beverages.  The  waiter  was 
filling  his  glass.  He  heard  something  hiss  and 
sizzle,  but  he  did  not  like  to  look  because  it 
would  be  so  obvious.  This  would  be  a  good  op 
portunity  to  show  these  fellows  that  he  was  not 
such  a  shark  as  they  supposed.  Still,  after  keep 
ing  out  of  temptation  so  many  years,  he  did  not 
like  the  idea  of  running  the  risk  of  becoming  a 
drunkard  now.  But,  perhaps,  it  would  not  be 
wrong  to  taste  a  little  of  it. 

"Are  you  fond  of  Apollinaris,  Kay?"  asked 
Stehman,  emptying  his  glass  at  a  gulp.  "  I'm  a 
disgusting  guzzler  of  it." 

"Oh,  yes,  I'm — I  like   it   very  much,"  said 

54 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


Stacy.  Stehman  asked  him  to  have  another 
piece  of  roast  just  to  keep  him  company,  and 
without  giving  time  for  answer,  Stacy  heard  him 
say,  "  Two  second,  Henry — rare."  Jack  made 
him  drink  another  bottle  of  Apollinaris,  too, 
though  it  pricked  his  tongue,  and  he  said  he 
did  not  want  it,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  impos 
ing  upon  his  friend  when  he  saw  him  write  out 
another  voucher  for  the  amount. 

Most  of  the  table  had  finished  by  this  time. 
They  were  smoking  with  their  coffee.  Those 
who  could  afford  it  were  smoking  cigars  and 
those  who  had  used  up  their  credit  with  the 
Cigar  Committee  were  solacing  themselves  with 
pipes.  Some  there  were  who  did  not  smoke  at 
all. 

"Our  crowd,"  Jack  explained,  "makes  it  a 
matter  of  principle  never  to  leave  the  table  for 
a  half  hour  or  so.  It's  good  for  the  digestion." 

Three  or  four  of  the  fellows  were  leaning  back 
with  their  heads  on  the  backs  of  chairs  or  on  one 
another's  shoulders.  One  was  slouching  with 
his  elbow  on  the  table  and  with  his  other  hand 
he  played  with  the  salt-cellars.  And  some 
looked  perfectly  contented  and  happy,  and  some 
looked  grave  or  sour,  and  all  were  beautifully 
and  completely  indolent,  and  everything  seemed 
comfortable  and  happy  and  Bohemian  to  Stacy. 
55 


The  Madness  of  Poler 


and  he  thought  it  fine  to  eat  his  dessert  wi(h  tiie 
smoke  floating  about  it. 

Dougal  Davis  opposite  was  blowing  fat,  well- 
formed  rings  aimed  at  the  top  of  Stacy's  Apolli- 
naris  bottle,  while  Liuton,  without  looking  up, 
was  informing  him,  in  picturesque,  though  hardly 
complimentary  language,  that  he  had  a  mouth 
splendidly  adapted  to  ring-blowing.  Davis  kept 
on  sending  rings  across  the  table,  and  paid  no 
attention.  Stacy  wondered  whether  they  were 
on  bad  terms  with  one  another.  Perhaps  it  was 
rude  in  him  to  listen.  They  seemed  so  much 
in  earnest. 

It  was  difficult  to  understand  these  fellows. 
Some  of  them  he  knew  to  be  as  hard  students  as 
himself,  and  yet  they  seemed  to  be  as  much  in 
with  the  crowd  as  the  others.  Someone  would 
say  something  in  a  most  impressive,  sober  way, 
and  nobody  seemed  to  notice  it,  or  else  everyone 
laughed.  Of  course  he  knew  that  what  they 
were  saying  during  dinner  about  their  extreme 
poverty  was  meant  humorously,  even  by  those 
of  the  fellows  who  tutored  or  wrote  for  the 
papers  to  help  themselves  along.  But  what 
troubled  him  was  that  he  could  not  catch  the 
drift  and  join  in  and  be  like  the  rest  of  them. 
Once,  when  everybody  laughed  heartily,  and 
Pope  bowed  his  head  and  said,  "  I  acknowledge 

56 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


that  I  am  sat  upon,"  Stacy  laughed,  too,  and 
said  "  Pretty  good,"  though  he  did  not  know 
what  it  was,  and  hoped  that  no  one  knew  he  was 
bluffing. 

From  another  part  of  the  house  came  the 
pounding  of  billiard-cues  and  a  few  emphatic  re 
marks,  varied  at  intervals  with  a  jell  or  a  loud' 
laugh.  In  another  room  three  or  four  voices 
were  singing,  perhaps  unconsciously,  and  the 
strong  final  notes  reached  the  dining-room.  Up 
stairs  someone  was  exclaiming,  "  I  had  next  on 
that !  "  From  the  lounging  room  came  the  notes 
of  a  piano,  and  Stacy  said,  "  That  '  Pilgrim's 
Chorus  '  is  a  beautiful  thing,  isn't  it,  Jack?  "  for 
-Stacy  knew. 

He  had  enjoyed  his  dinner,  and  was  perfectly 
self-possessed.  He  could  look  about  the  room 
at  everyone  without  flinching.  Henry  brought 
the  coffee  in  very  pretty  cups,  with  the  club  de 
sign  on  them.  The  buttons  came  in  at  Steh- 

man's  ringing.     "Jackson,  get  me  a Ray, 

you  don't  smoke,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  Stacy  replied. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon — bring  some  Per- 
fectos,  Jackson — please  pardon  me,  I  forgot  en 
tirely  that  you  smoked.  I  must  have  mixed  you 
up  with  someone  else.  I  thought  sure  you  did 
not  smoke." 

57 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


He  seemed  so  cut  up  about  it  and  his  voice 
so  pathetically  apologetic  that  Stacy  felt  sorry 
for  him,  and  had  to  say,  "  That's  all  right,  Jack. 
You  see  I  have  just  begun.  That  is,  I  haven't 
been  smoking  very  long,  you  know,  on  account  of 
my  eyes."  But  he  hoped  the  others  did  not  hear. 

"Will  you  have  a  cigarette  first?"  Stehman 
asked. 

"  No,  I  prefer  a  cigar,"  said  Stacy,  in  a  fine, 
deep  voice.  Stehman  lighted  a  cigarette. 

Horatio  had  never  smoked  but  one  cigar  be 
fore,  and  he  was  not  certain  about  how  much  of 
the  end  to  bite  off.  But  it  seemed  to  draw  all 
right  when  the  buttons  held  a  match  for  him. 
It  did  not  make  him  feel  the  least  bit  sick.  He 
thought  he  held  it  between  his  first  and  second 
fingers  rather  well. 

His  host  began  to  talk  about  the  Dean's  Eng 
lish  again,  and  Stacy  changed  the  subject.  Of 
course  Jack  meant  it  out  of  consideration  for 
him,  but  Stacy  could  talk  about  other  things 
than  his  studies.  Presently  Jack  began  again. 
"  "What  collateral  reading  are  you  doing  in  the 

Public  Law  course,  Kay What's  that 

you're  saying,  Timber  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Timberly,  smiling  satiri 
cally.  "  We  are  just  amused  a  little  bit  at  your 
posing  as  a  heavy  poler.  That's  all." 

58 


TJ}e  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


But  Jack  only  frowned,  and  turned  again  to 
Stacy,  who  knew  the  others  were  paying  atten 
tion,  and  so  made  answer,  "  Don't  intend  to  read 
anything.  I've  quit  taking  notes  on  the  lect 
ures,  too.  A  syllabus  at  the  end  of  the  term 
will  have  to  do  me."  That  ought  to  show 
them. 

Nobody  said  anything  for  a  moment,  and  when 
he  looked  up  he  could  not  tell  from  their  faces 
what  they  thought  of  his  remark,  though  Linton 
seemed  to  wear  a  quizzical  smile.  But  then  that 
fellow  always  seemed  to  be  sneering  or  else  look 
ing  oblivious. 

Then  Smith,  who  was  a  track  athlete,  went 
on  with  his  conversation  with  Pope.  He  was 
venturing  the  opinion  that  Princeton's  prospects 
for  the  spring  were  poor.  He  was  a  young  man 
who  thought  he  had  a  dignity,  and  he  liked  to 
have  people  pay  attention  to  what  he  said.  He 
had  reason  to  suppose  that  his  opinions  on  ath 
letics  amounted  to  something.  So  he  was  rather 
astonished,  as  were  Stehman  and  the  rest  of  the 
table,  when  Stacy's  high  voice  burst  in  with, 
."No,  now,  you  don't  mean  it,  Smithie.  You  are 
joking,  aren't  you?"  There  was  no  reason  why 
he  should  not  be  familiar  and  play  horse  like 
the  rest. 

At  first  there  was  such  a  pause  that  he  felt 

59 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


himself  blush,  and  he  feared  he  had  offended 
Smith,  who  had  stopped  talking  and  was  blush 
ing  a  little,  too.  Then  suddenly  Timberly  burst 
out  with  a  snorting  laugh,  and  then  Davis  and 
then  the  whole  crowd,  even  Linton,  and  Stacy 
himself,  because  he  had  made  such  a  hit,  laughed 
modestly,  though  still  blushing,  at  which  they 
all  laughed  still  more.  He  did  not  know  it  was 
so  funny  as  all  that.  That  was  not  half  as  witty 
as  he  could  be,  as  he  would  show  them. 

But  just  then  Stehman  interrupted  and  claimed 
attention.  "  Timber,"  he  called  down  the  table, 
"  I  heard  a  new  one  to-day  on  Jimmie  McCosh." 
Stehman  then  told  a  story  about  the  Doctor's 
falling  on  the  slippery  stones  on  McCosh  walk, 
and  what  he  said  when  he  could  not  get  up. 
Like  most  imitations  of  dear  old  Jimmie's 
Scotch,  Stehman's  sounded  like  a  poor  Irish 
brogue.  It  was  not  a  very  good  story,  but  the 
fellows  imagined  how  it  would  sound  if  told  well, 
and  then  laughed  because  it  was  good  old  Jack 
Stehman.  Stacy  thought  he  could  do  better 
than  that. 

Everything  was  quiet.  Now  was  the  time.. 
He  cleared  his  throat.  "  Say,  fellows,  this  is  the 
way  the  president  talks  in  chapel."  His  voice 
was  high  and  unnecessarily  loud.  He  arose  and 
took  hold  of  the  lapels  of  his  little  coat  and 

60 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


raised  his  brows  and  compressed  his  lips  and 
looked  side  wise  through  his  glasses  and  re 
peated  very  quickly  in  a  strange  voice,  "The 
seven  Arabic  numerals  do  not  form  a  sufficient 
basis  for  crystallization  about  which  the  car 
dinal  virtues  may  cluster."  Then  he  promptly 
sat  down  and  began  to  puff  vigorously  upon  his 
big  cigar. 

The  fellows  smiled  surprisedly  and  looked  at 
each  other.  Then  they  laughed.  They  stopped 
a  moment ;  then  one  by  one  they  began  to  laugh 
again,  as  if  the  thing  were  growing  on  them. 
Finally  they  roared  and  kept  on  roaring. 

At  home  they  always  applauded  when  he  got 
that  off,  although  his  mother  thought  it  wrong 
in  him,  but  they  did  not  pound  on  the  table  and 
scream  and  slap  each  other  on  the  back,  as  these 
fellows  were  doing  now.  It  must  have  been  be 
cause  this  audience  was  more  familiar  with  the 
original.  But  he  hardly  heard  them. 

"  Say,  fellows,  I'll  tell  you  the  story  of  the 
little  boy  who  stole  the  jam ! "  he  exclaimed, 
excitedly.  Before  Stehman  and  one  or  two 
others  of  this  same  crowd  he  had  tried  once  in 
freshman  year  to  tell  this  same  story,  and  failed 
for  lack  of  courage.  He  was  not  the  least  bit 
frightened  this  time. 

He  leaned  back  in   his   chair  and  imitated 

61 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


the  boy's  voice  aud  blew  smoke  between  sen 
tences  and  gesticulated  with  the  cigar  in  his 
hand ;  and  when  he  had  finished  everyone 
pounded  and  screamed  and  applauded  as  before, 
while  he  only  shut  his  lips  tight  and  tried  to 
look  serious,  as  all  good  raconteurs  should. 
Would  not  this  be  fine  to  write  to  Fannie  about  ? 

"  Good  !  Good  !  "  they  were  shouting  to  him. 
"  Give  us  another,  Stace.  You're  a  good  one. 
Do  the  Dr.  Patton  act  again.  These  fellows 
haven't  seen  it." 

"  No,  we  haven't  seen  it.     Let  her  go." 

Stacy  raised  his  eyes  from  the  table-cloth. 
Those  of  the  juniors  that  had  left  and  some  of 
the  seniors,  hearing  the  racket,  had  come  in  to 
see  what  was  up.  The  piano  had  ceased.  Fel 
lows  were  pushing  into  the  room  with  cues  in 
their  hands  and  their  coats  off.  Some  of  them 
were  sitting  on  the  table.  Some  had  their  arms 
about  one  another's  shoulders.  Leaning  against 
the  door-post,  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth  and  a 
merry  twinkle  in  his  eye,  stood  a  senior  named 
Bangs,  whom  Stacy,  in  freshman  year,  feared 
more  than  anything  on  earth.  He  had  never, 
until  this  moment,  forgiven  him. 

Before  Bangs  and  over  half  the  active  mem 
bership  of  the  club  did  little  Stacy,  who  used  to 
cross  the  street  to  avoid  being  looked  at,  jump 

63 


TJje  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


up  on  a  chair  and  with,  greater  gusto  than  ever, 
with  his  funny  little  mouth  twisted  up,  with  his 
voice  strained  to  produce  a  peculiar  resonance, 
repeat  part  of  a  sermon  once  preached  by  the 
president  of  the  college.  And  when  he  had  fin 
ished,  his  hearers  were  doubled  up  on  the  floor 
with  laughter. 

Throughout  all  this  Stehnian  alone  seemed 
unappreciative.  He  laughed  in  a  nervous  way. 
Once  he  said,  "  Let's  go  sit  by  the  fire."  Could 
it  be  possible  that  his  good  friend  Jack,  who  was 
accustomed  to  being  the  most  popular,  was — no, 
he  would  not  think  that  of  him. 

"  Do  something  else,"  they  were  crying.  "  Go 
on.  Go  on.  Please !  " 

If  he  wanted  to  he  could  double  them  up 
once  more,  this  time  with  an  imitation  of  Jimmie 
Johnson's  stuttering,  but  he  absolutely  declined. 
He  knew  that  brevity  was  the  soul  of  wit. 
"  Stacy,  you  ought  to  go  on  the  stage  !  "  one  of 
the  seniors  exclaimed. 

But  he  only  answered,  "Naw.  That  don't 
amount  to  anything.  Shoot."  And  then  they 
all  began  laughing  once  more  at  the  mere  re 
membrance  of  it. 

Jack  arose  to  go.  Stacy  picked  up  the  huge 
cigar,  which  had  gone  out,  and  jamming  it  firmly 
between  his  teeth,  strode  after  his  host.  He 

63 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


walked  past  the  fellows,  who  were  still  laughing, 
as  modestly  and  with  as  unconscious  an  expres 
sion  as  Jack  Stehman  himself  wore  on  the  foot 
ball  field  when  running  back  to  his  place  af 
ter  making  a  touch-down  and  the  crowd  was 
cheering. 

In  the  hall  he  said,  "  I  think  I'll  have  to  go 
now,  Jack."  His  voice  was  joyously  nervous. 
He  could  not  hold  in  much  longer. 

"  Must  you  go,  Bay  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  must  finish  a  letter.  Good-night, 
Jack,  old  man.  I've  had  a  bully  time." 

The  buttons  was  helping  him  on  with  his 
coat,  and  he  repeated,  "  Good-night,  Jack,  old 
man.  I've  had  a  bully  time."  His  voice  nearly 
broke. 

Then  the  door  closed,  and  Stehman,  who  was 
angry,  turned  toward  the  convulsing  crowd  by 
the  fire  and  said,  in  a  calm  voice,  "  I  greatly  ad 
mire  what  you  fellows  have  done  this  evening. 
You  are  indeed  typical  Princeton  men.  Oh, 
you  have  the  true  spirit." 

"  Fine  poler,  your  quiet,  inoffensive,  young 
friend,"  some  one  rejoined  with  a  chuckle. 

"  Not  ashamed — as  you  were  reminding  us  the 
other  night — not  ashamed  of  being  a  poler 
either,"  said  the  fellow  Stehman  had  jumped 
on  for  being  a  kid. 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


"  Wow  !  "  cried  Bangs,  with  a  groan  of  laugh 
ter.  "  I  haven't  had  so  much  horse  since  sopho 
more  year." 

Then  Linton  spoke.  "  Jackie,  dear,  don't  look 
that  way.  It's  not  nice.  And  do  not  chew  a 
rag  because  your  little  poler  did  not  develop  as 
you  wanted  him  to.  You  must  learn  to  part 
with  your  ideals " 

"And,  Jack,  you  must  admit,"  interrupted 
Davis,  "  that  it  was  absurdly  comical.  It  was 
mean  to  laugh,  but  how  could  we  help  it  ?  His 
standing  up  there  and  kicking  up  his  poler  an 
tics,  like  an  old  cow,  and  thinking  all  the  time 
that  he  was— 

The  rest  was  cut  short  by  Stehman's  bringing 
his  big  fist  down  upon  a  table  by  the  window. 
"But,  Dougal,"  he  thundered,  "that  doesn't 
make  any  difference.  He  was  my  guest.  Be 
cause  he  tried  to  bring  himself  down  to  our  tone 
you  fellows  let  him  make  a  fool  of  himself,  and 
sat  there  and  laughed  at  him,  like  a  set  of 
snobs.  Jackson,  get  my  coat." 

"You  needn't  talk  so  loud,"  growled  a  sar 
castic-faced  post-graduate.  "  The  people  across 
the  street  don't  care  to  hear  about  it." 

"  Don't  go  away  with  your  back  up,  Jack," 
Linton  shouted  after  him  good-naturedly.  "  And 
you  need  not  worry  about  little  Stacy.  The  best 

65 


The  Madness  of  Poler  Stacy 


time  tie  ever  had  in  college  was  with  us  snobs 
he-re  to-night,  and  he's  probably  chuckling  to 
himself  now  on  his  way  across  the  campus  about 
the  big  tear  he  made." 

But  little  Stacy  was  not  doing  anything  of 
the  sort.  One  of  his  new  Blucher  shoes  had 
come  untied  when  he  had  jumped  up  on  the 
chair  to  do  the  president  act,  and  he  stopped  to 
tie  it  by  the  light  of  the  club  window.  And  it 
was  wide  open. 


THE    HAZING   OF  VALLIANT 


THE   HAZING   OF   VALLIANT 

THIS  story  begins  with  a  girl.  She  was 
small  and  had  a  nose  that  turned  up  and 
a  quiet  appreciation  of  the  ridiculous.  All 
summer  long  she  sat  on  the  sand  without  a  veil 
and  was  nice  to  two  little  boys  in  clean  duck 
trousers  and  buzz-saw  hats  which  blew  off 
sometimes. 

One  of  these  was  eighteen  years  old  and 
had  a  complexion  that  women  envied  and  felt 
like  kissing.  He  was  small  and  dainty  and 
smelt  like  good  soap.  His  name  was  Valliant. 
The  other  was  a  little  older,  considerably  big 
ger,  and  much  more  self-assertive.  Except  for 
his  duck  trousers  he  wore  orange  and  black 
with  his  class  numerals  on  everything.  That 
might  have  made  but  little  difference.  But 
the  girl  decided  that  she  would  like  it  more  if 
they  would  become  angry  for  her  sake,  which 
they  one  day  did. 

After  that  whenever  the  little  one  was  alone 
with  her  his  voice  was  soft  and  his  manner 
thoroughly  abject.  She  liked  this.  She  liked 


The  Having  of  Valliant 


his  sweet-aiid-cleanness  also.  The  other,  whose 
name  was  Buckley,  had  an  untamed,  defiant  way 
of  tossing  his  shoulders,  like  an  unbroken 
stallion.  She  liked  that  still  more.  When  she 
sat  out  dances  with  him,  she  put  him  where 
the  arc-light  on  the  veranda  would  play  upon 
his  eyes,  which  were  good,  and  talked  about  the 
other  boy's  nice  manners. 

Best  of  all  she  liked  to  have  both  about 
her  at  once.  The  sophomore  breathed  lungfuls 
of  cigarette  smoke  and  told  her  how  hard  his 
class  would  haze  the  freshman  in  the  fall,  and 
how  cold  the  canal  was  on  a  frosty  night, 
while  the  sub-freshman  only  gazed  out  over 
the  legs  and  arms  splashing  and  gleaming  in 
the  surf,  and  tried  to  smile  in  a  way  to  show 
Buckley  that  he  was  not  taking  offence.  For 
what  could  a  sub-freshman  do  ? 

Then  the  girl  would  poke  the  end  of  her  red 
parasol  in  the  sand  and  say  :  "I  think  it  would 
be  just  too  mean  of  you  to  haze  Mr.  Valliant. 
He  is  such  a  good  friend  of  mine."  This 
was  because  it  is  woman's  nature  to  take  the 
part  of  the  weak  and  oppressed. 

But  one  day  the  sophomore  made  a  remark 
about  "  pretty  pink-cheeked  boys,"  which  had 
been  better  left  unsaid.  Then  arose  the  young 
er  one  and  shaking  impressively  a  slender, 

70 


The  Having  of  Valliant 


pink-nailed  finger,  he  spoke.  "You  had  bet 
ter  not  try  to  haze  me,  AVill  Buckley.  Do  you 
hear  what  I  say  ?  "  Which  was  the  very  worst 
thing  he  could  have  said.  Besides  it  was  de 
cidedly  fresh. 

But  he  was  very  much  in  earnest  and  quite 
angry  and  his  young  voice  broke  in  the  middle. 
The  sophomore  laughed  mirthfully  and  the  girl 
became  genuinely  sorry  for  a  moment,  despite 
the  humor  of  the  situation ;  and  as  she 
watched  his  dainty  legs  retreating  over  the 
dunes  toward  the  cottages  it  repented  her  of 
having  stirred  up  enmity  between  the  two,  and 
she  resolved  from  that  day  to  make  up  for  it. 
This  she  did  by  being  always  good  to  the  lit 
tle  one  in  the  presence  of  the  big  one,  which 
seems  short-sighted  in  her. 

Thus  did  one  small  girl  amuse  herself 
throughout  the  week,  and  then,  when  Saturday 
evening  came  and  the  children  were  left  to  burn 
cigarettes  by  themselves,  she  entertained  the 
men  with  it,  who  came  down  to  spend  Sunday. 
For  her  nose  turned  up  and  she  was  good  at 
mimicry.  She  won't  be  mentioned  again. 

In  the  glorious  old  days  of  untrammelled  class 
activity  when  everyone  recognized  that  there 
were  certain  duties  owed  the  freshman  by  the 

71 


The  Having  of  Valliant 


sophomore  class,  as  Hall  talk  was  due  them  from 
the  upper-classmen  (another  good  old  custom 
now  defunct),  you  had  only  casually  to  drop 
word  to  a  freshman  on  the  way  to  recitation  to 
wait  for  you  when  night  came,  back  of  Wither- 
spoon — as  you  would  bid  a  classmate  come  to  a 
spread  in  your  room — and  he  would  turn  up 
promptly  and  smilingly,  take  his  little  dose 
meekly  and  cheerfully,  and  go  to  bed  a  better 
boy  for  it  and  brag  about  it  every  time  he 
dined  out  in  Christmas  holidays.  But  all  that 
is  changed  now. 

Even  in  the  days  of  which  this  is  written, 
which  were  only  comparatively  modern  times, 
one  had  to  play  a  very  careful  game  to  do  any 
hazing.  The  freshman  was  beginning  to  hesi 
tate  about  putting  out  his  light  when  you  yelled 
up  at  him  from  the  street.  People  were  putting 
strange  notions  in  his  head.  He  was  beginning 
to  think  he  had  a  personality.  They  were  tell 
ing  him  he  had  rights.  The  old  glory  had  de 
parted  along  with  Eushes  and  Midnight  Cane 
Sprees  and  Horn  Sprees  and  Fresh  Fires  to 
make  room  for  a  University  spirit  and  linen 
shirts.  At  the  present  rate  of  retrogression- 
mark  the  prediction — it  will  not  be  many  years 
before  the  freshman  will  be  allowed  to  wear  the 
orange  and  black  and  the  sophomore  a  silk  hat ! 

72 


The  Having  of  Valliant 


When  that  day  comes,  may  it  be  that  a  certain 
Old  Grad.  will  have  attended  his  last  reunion. 

Twice  had  Buckley  waited  near  the  house 
where  Valliant  ate  his  dinner.  But  it's  quite 
light  after  dinner  in  September.  He  had  gone 
to  the  house  where  he  roomed,  and  asked  the 
landlady  if  any  of  the  gentlemen  wanted  to  join 
the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  But  that,  like  the  Nassau  Lit. 
and  Princetonian  subscription  -  list  -  game,  had 
been  played  out ;  the  door  was  closed  in  his  face. 
Then  for  three  successive  nights  he  waited  in  an 
alley  near  by,  and  on  the  third  night  the  fresh 
man  came.  But  with  him  an  upper-classman 
friend. 

Buckley  said  things  and  kept  in  the  shadow. 
But  the  freshman  had  good  eyes  and  said  as  he 
took  out  his  keys,  "  Oh,  is  that  you,  Mr.  Buck 
ley?  Why,  how  do  you  do?  Aren't  you  coming 
up  to  see  me?  "  That  was  horribly  fresh. 

"Not  now,"  Buckley  growled.  "Which  is 
your  room  ?  "  Excusing  himself  from  the  upper- 
classman,  who  was  enjoying  all  this,  the  fresh 
man  led  Buckley  into  the  alley- way,  and  pointed 
up  at  the  wing  of  the  house.  It  was  a  large 
one  and  many  people  lived  in  it.  "That  room 
up  there  next  to  the  one  with  a  light  in  it. 
See?"  he  said  in  polite,  friendly  tones.  This 
was  decidedly  fresh. 

73 


The  Having  of  Valliant 


Buckley  said  he  would  come  up  later  on  in 
the  evening,  which,  of  course,  he  had  no  inten 
tion  of  doing,  and  saying  "Good-night"  good- 
mannerly  enough,  he  slinked  off,  and  the  fresh 
man  took  his  friend  up  the  stairs,  which  smelled 
of  damp  carpets. 

The  next  night  Buckley  got  his  gang  together. 
They  blew  smoke  in  one  another's  faces  and  de 
cided  that  a  little  exhibition  of  oarsmanship  in 
a  basin  of  water  with  toothpicks  would  do  to 
warm  up  with.  Then  a  cross-country  jaunt  would 
be  appropriate,  running,  walking,  and  crawling 
to  the  canal.  Here,  as  the  freshman  was  proud 
of  his  shape,  he  would  be  given  an  opportunity 
of  displaying  it  while  the  moon  reflected  in  the 
water.  And,  if  he  felt  cold  after  that,  he  could 
climb  a  telephone  pole  for  exercise — they  didn't 
want  to  be  inconsiderate  of  his  comfort — and 
sing  "Nearer  my  home  to-day,  to-day,  than  I 
have  been  before,"  at  the  top  of  it.  Then  with 
a  few  recitations  and  solos  on  the  way  back  he 
could  be  put  to  bed.  This  would  be  a  good 
night's  work. 

It  was  nearly  two  o'clock  when  they  carried 
the  ladder  into  the  alley-way.  They  laid  it 
down  in  silence. 

For  several  reasons  this  was  to  be  a  right 
nervy  go.  A  young  professor  and  his  young 

74 


Tbe  Having  of  Valliant 


wife  had  a  suite  of  rooms  in  the  house.  But  it 
wasn't  that  which  troubled  them.  This  was. 
The  moon  shone  full  and  strong  upon  the  clear, 
blank  wall  of  the  house,  and  it  was  in  plain  view 
from  a  certain  spot  a  distance  of  about  two 
blocks  away.  Across  this  spot  a  certain  owl- 
eyed  proctor  was  pretty  sure  to  pass  and  repass 
off  and  on  all  night. 

That  was  the  reason  they  were  sitting  on  the 
ladder  waiting  for  a  signal  from  Colston,  who 
was  over  by  the  certain  spot  watching  for  the 
certain  proctor. 

"Buck,  which  is  the  freshman's  room?  " 

"  It  was  the  one  next  to  the  light  and  the  light 
was  in  the  room  over  the  side-door." 

"  Second  or  third  story  ?  " 

"  Sist !  not  so  loud.     Why,  let's  see,  the  third." 

"  Yes,"  said  Haines,  "  don't  you  see  the  win 
dow's  open  up  there.  None  of  the  family  would 
do  that.  Town  people  would  never  air " 

"Listen!" 

A  whistle  came  from  the  silent  distance,  the 
first  bar  from  "  Rumski  Ho,"  then  a  silence,  then 
the  same  bar  repeated.  And  by  this  they  knew 
that  the  proctor  had  walked  into  the  open  space 
and  out  of  it  again,  and  that  if  they  hurried 
they  could  put  the  ladder  against  the  house, 
send  a  man  up  it  and  take  it  away  again  be- 

75 


The  Having  of  Valliant 


fore  the  proctor  crossed  the  open  space  once 
more. 

Buckley  started  up.  The  others  leaned 
against  the  bottom  round  to  steady  it.  Then  he 
came  back  for  a  moment.  "Don't  take  it  away 
until  I  get  all  the  way  in — until  I  wave  my 
hand.  There's  plenty  of  time.  Keep  cool," 
he  whispered,  as  he  nimbly  began  his  as 
cent.  For  his  descent  he  was  to  rely  upon  the 
stairs,  the  freshman,  and  his  own  persuasive 
powers,  for  what  are  freshmen  and  stairs  made 
for? 

Buckley  was  a  right  devilish  young  man,  and 
typically  a  sophomore.  The  year  before  he  had 
climbed  the  belfry  of  old  North  and  stolen  the 
bell-clapper  and  gained  class-wide  renown.  Al 
ready  this  term  he  had  mounted  the  water- 
tower  and  painted  the  freshman  numerals  green. 
The  very  night  before  this  he  had  run  around  the 
eaves  of  Keunion,  which  is  no  easy  trick,  with 
"  Bill,"  the  night  proctor,  behind  him,  and  when 
he  dropped  off  the  bottom  round  of  the  fire- 
escape  into  the  arms  of  another  proctor,  he  had 
wriggled  out  again.  Still  there  are  sensations 
peculiar  to  scaling  a  ladder  stretching  toward 
the  black  of  an  open  window,  with  a  moon 
throwing  shadows  of  yourself  and  the  rounds 
of  the  ladder  against  the  dull  bricks  of  an  old- 

76 


The  Having  of  Valliant 


fashioned  house,  while  old  North  strikes  two  in 
the  distance.  Buckley  felt  them. 

The  ladder  did  not  quite  reach,  and  he  had  to 
stand  on  the  top  round  and  stretch  for  the  sill. 
Then  he  pulled  himself  up,  got  one  foot  over, 
took  a  longer  grip  on  the  inside  of  the  window, 
dragged  the  other  foot  up,  as  you  would  climb  a 
high  board  fence,  and  was  in  the  room  with  both 
feet.  He  leaned  out  and  waved  his  hand.  The 
top  of  the  ladder  silently  swung  out  from  the 
wall  and  swooped  down  in  silence.  Buckley 
turned  and  started  across  the  room. 

He  could  feel  the  heavier  atmosphere  of  in 
doors.  A  small  clock  was  ticking  somewhere. 
He  detected  a  faint  scent  of  mouchoir  powder, 
and  was  just  remarking  to  himself  half  con 
sciously  that  it  was  just  like  that  pretty-faced 
freshman,  when  from  somewhere  there  came  a 
soft  voice,  saying,  "  Is  that  you,  dear  ?  " 

Then,  before  all  the  blood  near  his  backbone 
had  time  to  freeze  into  little  splinters  of  ice,  he 
said,  "  Shsss,"  and  stepped  out  of  the  moonlight 
and  into  the  shadow,  which  is  the  best  thing  to 
do  in  case  you  are  ever  in  a  similar  situation. 
Buckley's  instinct  made  him  do  it. 

Across  the  silence  the  soft  voice  floated  again 
and  mingled  with  the  moonlight,  "  Oh,  I'm  not 
asleep.  But  why  did  you  stay  so  long,  Guy, 

77 


TJ.ie  Hewing  of  Valliant 


dear  ?  "  There  was  another  sound.  It  was  the 
squeaking  of  a  bed-spring. 

Then,  as  Buckley's  knees  stiffened  tight 
against  each  other,  he  spied  coming  toward  him 
something  white,  with  two  black  streaks  hanging 
half  way  down,  which  as  the  thing  came  into  the 
moonlight,  he  saw  to  be  long  braids  of  dark 
hair.  Also,  the  light  showed  a  tall,  slender 
figure  clothed  in  but  one  garment,  which  was 
white,  and  a  face  which  was  young  and  beauti 
ful.  Buckley  had  never  seen  a  woman  dressed 
that  way  before,  and  he  closed  his  eyes. 

But  he  felt  it  coming  nearer  and  nearer.  He 
stood  up  perfectly  straight  and  rigid  in  the  dark 
ness  as  two  arms  reached  up  and  met  about 
his  neck.  The  arms  were  soft,  and  they  smelt 
good. 

Buckley  did  not  budge,  and  the  soft  voice 
began,  in  a  sort  of  whisper,  "  You  have  not  for 
given  me  yet  ?  "  It  began  to  sob,  and  he  felt  the 
sobbing  against  his  orange  and  black  sweater. 
"  You  know  I  did  not  mean  it.  Won't  you — 
forgive  her  ?  Won't  you  forgive — her  ?  "  And 
Buckley  fully  realized  that  he  was  in  the  thick 
of  some  romantically  ghastly  mistake,  and  that 
the  only  thing  he  could  do  to  make  it  worse 
would  be  to  speak  or  show  his  face. 

For  fully  half  a  minute  he  stood  thus  motion- 

78 


The  Having  of 


less,  with  his  arms  at  his  sides,  gathering  him 
self  together,  and  trying  to  think  what  to  do. 
And  when  he  had  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do 
he  gritted  his  teeth  and  put  both  arms  about  the 
Clingy  Thing. 

And  when  he  had  done  that  the  Clingy  Thing 
began  to  purr  in  soft,  plaintive  tones,  which  un 
doubtedly  were  sweet,  and  would  probably  have 
been  appreciated  by  Buckley  if  he  had  not  been 
so  rattled.  "  Tell  me  that  you  do  forgive  me. 
Say  it  with  your  own  lips." 

Buckley  said  nothing  with  his  lips.  He  was 
biting  them. 

"  Guy,  speak  to  me  ! " 

Buckley  didn't. 

"  Speak  to  me,  my  husband ! "  A  soft,  fragrant 
hand  came  gently  up  along  his  cheek,  which 
tingled,  and  over  his  eyes,  which  quivered,  and 
pushed  back  the  hair  from  his  brow,  which  was 
wet  Suddenly  she  raised  her  head,  gave  one 
look  at  his  face  with  large,  startled  eyes,  then, 
with  a  shuddering  gasp,  she  recoiled. 

But  Buckley  was  not  letting  go.  This  is  what 
he  had  been  preparing  for.  Keeping  one  arm 
about  her  waist  he  threw  the  other  around  the 
neck  in  such  a  way  that  he  could  draw  it  tight  if 
necessary,  and  said  in  one  breath,  "  For  heaven's 
sake,  don't  scream — I  can  explain ! " 

79 


The  Having  of  1/alliant 


"  Ugh !  Oh,  let  go  !  Who— let  me  go  or  I'll 
screa-ch-ch-ch." 

But  Buckley  didn't  let  her  do  either.  He 
pressed  on  the  windpipe,  feeling  like  three  or 
four  kinds  of  murderers  as  he  did  so.  Then, 
as  she  struggled  with  feeble,  womanly  might, 
Buckley  did  the  fastest  thinking  he  had  ever 
done  in  all  his  nineteen  years.  The  door  of  the 
room — was  it  locked  ?  The  stairs — where  were 
they?  The  front  door  —  was  the  night -latch 
above  the  knob?  Was  it  below?  Would  it 
stick  ?  All  this  time  she  would  be  screaming, 
and  the  house  was  full  of  men.  He  would  be 
caught.  He  was  in  for  something.  But  was  he 
hurting  her  ?  He  began  to  talk 

"Oh,  please,  if  you  scream  it'll  only  make 
things  awfully  awkward.  I  got  in  here  by  mis 
take.  I  can  explain.  I'm  not  going  to  hurt 
you.  Oh3  please,  keep  quiet." 

She  tried  again  to  wrench  away  from  his  grasp, 
and  Buckley  drew  her  back  with  ease,  feeling 
half  sorry  for  her  poor  little  strength.  "  Prom 
ise  me  you'll  not  cry  out  and  I'll  let  go." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  promise,"  said  the  scared  voice. 
"  Anything.  Only  let  me  go." 

Buckley  released  his  grasp.  She  fled  across 
the  room.  He  thought  she  was  making  for  the 
door.  He  sprang  toward  it  to  keep  her  from 

80 


Tl)e  Having  of  l/alliant 


running  downstairs  and  arousing  the  house. 
But  she  only  snatched  up  an  afghan  or  some 
thing  from  the  sofa,  and  holding  it  about  her 
retreated  to  the  dark  part  of  the  room. 

Buckley  couldn't  see  her  now,  but  he  heard 
her  moan,  "  Oh  dear,  oh  dear !  "  in  a  muffled  tone, 
and  he  felt  that  she  must  be  cowering  in  the 
corner  farthest  away  from  him,  and  it  made 
him  have  all  sorts  of  contempt  for  himself. 
Then  he  talked  again,  standing  with  his  back 
against  the  door  and  looking  toward  the  dark. 
"  I  don't  know  who  you  are,"  he  began  in  a  loud, 
nervous  whisper,  "  but  whoever  you  are,  I  wish 
you  wouldn't  cry.  Please  be  calm.  I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  you — I  don't  want  to 
hear  you." 

"  Not  so  loud,  or  we'll  be  heard." 

"  Oh,  oh,  how  can  you  trade  upon  my  neces 
sity  ?  Haven't  you  a  grain  of  manhood,  a  spark 
of  kindness  in  you " 

"Yes,  yes,  lots,"  said  Buckley.  "Listen  to 
me.  Please  listen.  It's  all  a  big  mistake.  I 
thought  I  was  coming  to  my  own  room " 

"  Your  own  room ! " 

"  I  mean  my  classmate's  room  —  I  mean  I 
thought  a  freshman  roomed  here.  I  wouldn't 
have  made  the  mistake  for  anything  in  the 

81 


The  Having  of  Valliant 


world.  You  aren't  half  as  sorry  I  got  in  youi 
room  as  I  am — Oh,  yes,  you  are  ! — I  mean  I'm 
awfully  sorry  and  wish  to  apologize,  and  I  hope 
you'll  forgive  me.  I  didn't  mean  anything " 

"  Mean  anything  ! " 

"  Really  I  didn't.  If  you'll  only  let  me  go 
down  and  promise  not  to  wake  the  house  before 
I  get  out,  why,  no  one  will  ever  know  anything 
about  it,  and  I'll  promise  not  to  do  it  again.  I'm 
awfully  sorry  it  happened."  Buckley  started  for 
the  door. 

"  Mrs.  Brown — Mr.  Brown,  help !  murder  !  " 

"  Oh,  for  heaven's  sake  don't !"  cried  Buckley. 

"I  will.  Just  as  soon  as  I  get  breath  and 
strength  enough  I  mean  to  wake  the  house,  the 
neighbors,  the  whole  town  if  I  can." 

"  No,  you  won't !  "  Buckley  started  across  the 
room. 

"  Stop !  "  she  cried. 

He  stopped.  The  voice  was  commanding.  It 
seemed  already  quite  strong  enough  to  scream. 
He  said  :  "  You  promised  not  to  scream." 

"  But  you  forced  me  to  promise." 

"  Are  you  going  to  scream  ?  " 

"  I  am."     She  was  getting  her  breath. 

"  Oh,  don't ;  please  don't.  If  I  wanted  to,  I 
could  hurt  you.  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you.  Ah, 
have  pity  on  me ! " 


The  Having  of  Valliant 


The  bold,  bad  sophomore  was  down  on  his 
knees,  with  his  hands  clasped  toward  the  dark, 
where  the  voice  came  from.  He  was  very  sorry 
for  himself. 

"  You  stay  right  there  in  the  moonlight." 

"Eight  here?" 

"  Eight  there.  And  if  you  dare  to  move,  I'll 
scream  with  all  my  might." 

Buckley  first  shivered  and  then  froze  as  stiff 
as  if  a  hair-trigger  rifle  were  pointing  at  him. 
"  How  long  must  I  stay  here  ?  "  he  asked,  with 
out  moving  his  head. 

"Until  my  hus —  Until  daylight,"  returned 
the  voice. 

"Until  daylight!"  repeated  Buckley.  There 
was  something  impressive  in  the  deep,  rich  voice 
of  this  tall  young  woman,  and  whoever  she  was, 
Buckley  could  tell,  from  the  refined  tones,  that 
she  was  a  lady.  He  could  just  make  out  the 
gleam  of  her  face  and  of  one  arm  in  the  dark 
corner. 

Outside,  the  crickets  were  scratching  in  the 
warm,  still  night.  It  was  after  two  o'clock.  A 
moon  was  shining  in  his  left  eye.  And  he,  Will 
iam  Buckley,  was  kneeling,  with  his  hands 
stretched  imploringly  toward  a  girl  whom  he  had 
never  seen  before,  in  the  third  story  of  an  old- 
fashioned  Princeton  house,  which  he  had  en- 

83 


The  Having  of  Valliant 


tered  for  the  first  time  by  a  ladder  which,  by 
this  time,  was  resting  serenely  against  a  freshly 
painted  house  in  Mercer  Street,  whither  it  had 
been  borne  by  four  classmates,  who  were  now  at 
the  corner  of  Canal  and  Dickinson  Streets,  as  per 
agreement,  and  cursing  him  for  taking  such  a 
long  time  to  pull  one  small  freshman  out  of  bed. 
Meanwhile,  the  moon  was  approaching  the  win 
dow-post. 

"Please,  oh,  please,  whoever,  you  are,"  he 
began,  in  earnest,  pleading  tones,  "won't  you 
forgive  me,  and  let  me  go  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  I  am  a  gentleman.  Indeed  I  am !  I  wouldn't 
harm  a  girl  for  the  world.  Please  let  me  go.  I'll 
be  fired — I  mean  expelled  from  college  for  this. 
I'll  be  disgraced  for  life.  I'll " 

"  Stop  !  "  The  voice  seemed  to  be  calm  now. 
"  While  it  may  be  true  that  you  did  not  break 
into  my  room  with  intent  to  rob  or  injure  a  de 
fenceless  woman,  yet,  by  your  own  confession, 
you  came  to  torment  a  weaker  person.  You 
wanted  to  haze  one  of  the  freshmen  in  this 
house  ;  that  was  it.  And  when  my  husband " 

"  Oh,  have  mercy  on  me.  Won't  you  have 
mercy  ?  "  Then  he  began  to  tell  her  what  a  good 
boy  he  had  always  been,  and  how  he  had  always 
gone  to  church,  and  how  fond  his  mother  was  of 

84 


The  Having  of  Valliant 


him,  and  that  he  was  the  pride  and  ambition  of 
the  family,  and  similar  rot,  showing  how  com 
pletely  scared  to  death  he  was.  "Just  think 
what  this  means  to  me,"  he  concluded.  "  If  I'm 
fired  from  college,  I'll  never  come  back.  I'll  be 
disgraced  for  life.  All  my  prospects  will  be 
blighted,  my  life  ruined,  and  my  mother's  heart 
broken." 

She  gave  a  little  hysterical  sob,  as  if  the 
strain  were  too  great  for  her.  "Yes,  for  your 
poor  mother's  sake  ;  yes,  go !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"Oh,  thank  you  with  all  my  heart.  My 
mother  would,  too,  if  she  could  know.  I  don't 
deserve  to  be  treated  so  well.  I  shall  always 
think  of  you  as  my  merciful  benefactress.  I 
can  never  forgive  myself  for  causing  you  pain. 
Oh,  thank  you." 

Buckley,  the  sophomore,  who  had  strode  into 
that  room  so  manfully,  in  the  full  pride  of  his 
sophomorish  strength  and  orange  and  black, 
grovelled  across  the  room  and  out  of  the  door, 
then  tip-toed  his  way  down  the  hall  stairs, 
silently  pulled  back  the  latch  of  the  front  door, 
and  sneaked  off,  with  his  tail  between  his  legs. 

The  outside  air  did  him  good,  and  by  the 
time  he  reached  his  impatient  class-mates  he  had 
thought  up  a  fairly  good  lie  about  the  fresh 
man's  being  ill,  quite  seriously  ill,  and  about  his 


The  Having  of  Valliant 


stopping  to  look  after  him  a  bit,  which  they  ad 
mitted  was  the  only  thing  to  do  under  the  cir 
cumstances,  though  it  was  blamed  hard  lines, 
after  all  the  trouble  they  had  taken.  "  Better 
luck  next  time,  Buck,"  they  said,  and  went  to 
bed. 

By  the  ten  o'clock  mail  next  morning  Buckley 
received  a  letter  in  strange  handwriting.  It 
said :  "  Just  as  a  tall  woman  looks  short  in  a 
man's  make-up,  so  does  a  short  man  look  tall  in 
a  woman's  make-up,  and  you  should  know  that 
blondes  are  hard  to  recognize  in  brunette  wigs. 
I  could  have  done  more  artistic  acting  if  you  had 
come  up  earlier,  when  I  had  on  my  full  costume. 
You  ought  to  know  that  a  real  girl  wouldn't 
have  behaved  quite  that  way.  You  see  you  still 
have  a  number  of  things  to  learn,  even  though 
you  are  a  soph.  Sort  of  hard  luck,  all  this, 
isn't  it,  old  man?  Hoping  that  the  rouge  will 
wash  off  your  lips  and  that  you  will  learn  to  for 
give  yourself,  I  am  your  merciful  benefactress, 
H.  G.  Yalliant." 

This  is  the  freshest  thing  I  ever  heard  of. 

There  was  a  P.  S.  which  said  :  "  Whether  or 
not  this  thing  gets  out  rests  entirely  with  you 
and  your  hazing  friends." 

Of  course  it  did  get  out,  as  all  such  things 
do;  but  Yalliant  was  not  bothered  again  by 

86 


The  Having  of  l/alliant 


sophomores,  though  he  ought  to  have  been 
hazed  up  and  down  and  inside-out  and  cross 
wise  by  the  whole  college. 

You  can  see  him  if  you  attend  the  next  pro 
duction  of  the  Dramatic  Association. 


HERO  WORSHIP 


HERO  WORSHIP 

NEAE  Old  Chapel  he  used  to  linger  on  the 
way  from  recitations,  buying  things  from 
old  black  Jimmie  and  pretending  to  be  amused 
by  his  stuttering  conversation  while  he  watched 
the  passers-by.  And  when  The  One  came  along 
for  whom  he  waited,  he  said  to  himself,  "Oh, 
he's  wearing  his  brown  shooting-coat  to-day," 
and  turned  and  gazed  after  him  until  out  of 
sight,  wondering  what  lecture  he  had  at  that 
hour  and  how  he  would  get  along  at  ifc.  Then 
passing  on  slowly  across  the  campus  he  turned 
out  upon  the  street. 

When  he  reached  his  room,  Darnell  said  to 
another  freshman  that  lived  in  the  house,  "  I 
saw  Lawrence  to-day.  He  was  walking  with 
his  arm  around  Nolan.  He  passed  right  by 
me."  And  he  could  also  have  told  just  how  he 
nodded  to  the  fellows  along  the  walk  and  how  he 
swung  his  legs.  Darnell  thought  that  Law 
rence's  gait  was  just  right.  So  was  his  manner 
of  dressing.  Somehow  Darnell  could  not  make 
his  corduroy  coat  hang  in  that  way.  It  lay 

91 


Hero  Worship 


back  all  right,  but  it  would  not  stay  snugly  up 
on  his  shoulders  as  Lawrence's  did. 

He  used  to  see  him  quite  often  now,  for  by 
this  time  he  had  learned  at  what  hours  Law 
rence's  lectures  came.  Which  was  more  than  the 
senior  himself  knew,  for  he  had  always  to  look 
at  the  schedule  tacked  up  on  the  back  of  the 
door  over  the  faculty  and  absence  committee 
summonses. 

Darnell  remembered  the  first  time  he  saw 
Lawrence.  It  was  on  the  morning  of  the  first 
day  of  the  term,  while  he  was  sitting  in  the  of 
fice  of  the  old  Nassau  Hotel,  quietly  waiting  for 
his  mother  and  trying  not  to  appear  green  and 
thinking  that  everyone  who  came  in  was  a  sopho 
more  and  wanted  him.  It  was  raining,  he  re 
membered,  and  people  came  scurrying  in  with 
their  trousers  turned  up  and  mackintoshes  on. 
Lawrence  came  in  alone. 

He  came  with  his  impressive  stride  and  a  very 
long  paddock  coat  and  a  new  kind  of  shooting- 
cap  which  he  brought  back  with  him  from  Pic 
cadilly  the  first  of  the  month.  He  frowned  and 
glanced  about  the  room.  And  when  he  found 
the  two  faces  he  was  looking  for  and  strode 
across  to  where  a  worried-faced  gentleman  in  a 
silk  hat  was  reading  the  paper  beside  a  fresh 
man  with  a  grinning  face,  he  said,  holding  out 

92 


Hero  Worship 


his  hand,  "  So  you  have  arrived."  It  was  just 
the  patrician  tone  of  voice  that  Darnell  had  ex 
pected  when  he  saw  the  face. 

When  Lawrence  stretched  out  his  hand  his 
long  coat  fell  open  and  disclosed  an  orange  mon 
ogram  of  many  closely  intertwined  letters  shin 
ing  against  the  black  of  his  undercoat.  It  was 
worked  upon  the  breast-pocket,  and  the  fresh 
man  wondered  what  that  mysterious  insignia 
might  mean. 

He  watched  him  as  he  jerked  his  head  and 
blew  smoke  in  the  damp  air.  The  way  he 
tossed  the  ashes  away  was  perfect.  And  when 
Lawrence  suddenly  turned  and,  looking  frankly 
in  the  freshman's  father's  eyes,  said  with  a  re 
served  smile,  "  You  need  not  worry  about  that, 
Mr.  Jansen,"  and  stretched  an  arm  about  the 
freshman's  shoulder,  Darnell  thought  he  would 
rather  be  that  freshman  than  anyone  in  the 
world — except  the  owner  of  the  arm. 

Then  he  began  to  speak  again,  and  Darnell 
found  himself  leaning  forward  a  little.  He  re 
membered  thinking,  "  I  don't  care  if  it  is  im 
polite  to  listen." 

Lawrence  said  in  a  rapid  manner,  without 
opening  his  teeth  very  wide,  "  The  team  ?  We 
brought  them  down  from  the  island  last  evening. 
Sea  air  is  a  good  tonic  to  begin  a  season's  train- 


Hero  Worship 


ing  with,  and  they  are  all  in  excellent  shape. 
Billy,  you  must  bring  your  father  down  to  the 
field  to  see  my  big  brown  babies."  Darnell  re 
membered  every  word,  though  he  did  not  under 
stand  quite  what  it  meant  at  the  time. 

Soon  after  getting  settled  he  took  pains  to 
pick  up  an  acquaintance  with  this  freshman. 
That  was  the  time  he  first  found  out  that  the 
senior  was  one  of  the  Lawrences.  The  freshman 
said,  ' '  Yes,  he's  a  mighty  fine  fellow.  He  played 
on  his  class  eleven  in  his  freshman  year."  But 
that  was  all  Jansen  said.  He  did  not  enthuse 
as  he  should  have.  He  had  no  more  than  the 
ordinary  fear  and  reverence  of  a  freshman  for  a 
senior.  There  was  a  man  on  the  team  named 
Stehman.  He  was  the  one  this  freshman  turned 
and  gazed  after  on  the  campus. 

But  now  Darnell  knew  more  about  him  than 
Jansen  did.  From  the  last  year's  "  Bric-a-brac  " 
he  had  learned  the  senior's  club  and  what  com 
mittees  he  was  on,  and  the  book  opened  up  now, 
of  its  own  accord,  to  the  picture  of  the  Glee 
Club.  He  could  have  told  you  Lawrence's  mid 
dle  name  and  his  street  and  number  at  home, 
and  his  campus  address  as  well.  Whenever  the 
freshman  went  to  night  session  of  Hall  he  looked 
up  as  he  went  by  to  see  if  the  room  in  West 
were  lighted,  and  he  wondered  what  he  was  do- 

94 


Hero  Worship 


ing  up  there  behind  those  curtains.  Once,  while 
passing  by,  some  one  was  calling  "Hello-o-o, 
Harry  Lawrence !  "  and  in  Lawrence's  own  voice 
came  a  muffled  "  Hello !  Come  up."  It  did  not 
seem  quite  right  for  them  to  be  noisy  and  famil 
iar  with  Lawrence  as  with  ordinary  fellows.  He 
did  not  understand  how  Lawrence  allowed  it. 

In  Jan  sen's  room  it  was,  and  Old  North  was 
ringing  curfew,  when  Lawrence  shook  his  hand 
and  said  in  his  peculiar  throaty  voice,  "  Glad  to 
know  you,"  or  else  "  Glad  to  meet  you."  He 
never  could  be  certain  which  it  was.  It  was  on  a 
Tuesday  evening,  and  he  had  made  a  poor  recita 
tion  in  algebra  that  day.  He  noticed  that  Law 
rence  was  only  about  an  inch  taller  than  him 
self. 

Darnell  looked  straight  back  at  him  and  said, 
"  I  think  I  have  heard  my  sister  speak  of  you, 
Mr.  Lawrence.  She  met  you  down  here  at  the 
sophomore  reception  last  June."  His  voice  was 
perfectly  firm  and  strong,  but  his  mouth  per 
sisted  in  drooping  a  little  at  the  corners.  He 
could  not  help  that. 

Lawrence  said,  "  Yes,  I  remember  very  well," 
which  delighted  the  freshman's  sister  Louise, 
when  Darnell  wrote  to  her  about  it,  just  as  much 
as  if  it  had  been  true.  "Is  your  sister  coming 

95 


Hero  Worship 


down  to  any  of  the  dances  this  year  ?  "  added 
the  senior. 

"  No,  I  don't  believe  she  is.  My  aunt  brought 
a  whole  crowd  down  that  time.  Mamma  was  on 
the  other  side,  or  she  would  not  have  allowed  it. 
Louise  is  not  out  yet."  Then  he  dropped  his 
big  brown  eyes  and  blushed  because  he  felt  that 
he  was  talking  too  much  and  because  he  had 
said  "  mamma  "  before  the  senior. 

But  Lawrence  was  only  looking  grave  and 
interested  and  well-bred,  and  he  replied,  "I  see. 
That's  too  bad.  I  wish  she  could  come." 

"  Yes,"  said  Darnell,  "I  wish  she  could  come," 
and  then,  although  he  did  not  want  to,  he  arose 
to  go,  because  he  thought  that  Lawrence  wished 
to  talk  confidentially  with  his  freshman,  Jansen. 

Lawrence,  who  did  not  care  about  his  going, 
because  he  found  it  as  easy  to  talk  to  two  fresh 
men  as  to  one,  said,  "I  hope  I'm  not  driving 
you  out,  Bonnell.  Good-night.  If  your  sister 
should  decide  to  come  down  this  year,  don't 
forget  to  let  me  have  a  chance  at  her  card  before 
it's  filled.  Good-night,  Bonnell." 

"  Oh,  I  won't,"  said  the  freshman.  "  Good 
night." 

As  if  he  could  forget.  As  if  he  would  be 
allowed  to  forget,  indeed!  She,  dear  little 
thing,  in  her  own  becoming  little  way,  wor- 

96 


Hero  Worship 


shipped  him,  too.  And  at  Mrs.  Somebody's 
School  in  Somethingtieth  Street,  she  used  to  slip 
an  arm  about  the  waist  of  her  latest  everlasting 
friend,  and  whisper  something  about  it  on  the 
way  upstairs  after  prayers. 

During  her  evening's  acquaintance  with  him  in 
June  she  had  told  the  great,  dark,  wonderful 
man  that  had  "  a  whole  tragedy  in  his  face," 
"  a  certain  indefinable  something "  in  his  man 
ner,  and  many  other  things,  too,  no  doubt,  that 
she  had  a  brother  who  was  coining  to  college  the 
next  fall,  and  she  asked  Lawrence  in  a  very 
timid,  pretty,  natural  manner  if  he  would  please 
look  out  for  her  brother,  who  would  be  a  fresh 
man  and  only  sixteen  years  old.  And  Lawrence, 
who  was  watching  the  way  she  held  her  head 
and  approving  of  it,  said,  "Of  course  I  will," 
and  forgot  about  it  during  the  next  dance,  which 
was  with  a  Newark  girl,  who  asked  him  how  the 
Sunday  night  hot-liquor  club  was  prospering. 
That  was  last  June. 

To  be  sure  Lawrence  did  not  get  his  name 
just  right,  but  then  many  people  did  not  come 
that  near  when  they  first  heard  it.  Besides, 
what  of  that  ?  Had  he  not  looked  at  him  and 
addressed  him  twice?  That  was  more  than 
most  freshmen  could  say. 

But  it  hurt  a  little  the  next  day,  when  Darnell 

97 


Hero  Worship 


changed  his  mind  about  going  to  the  library  b^ 
cause  he  saw  that  if  he  kept  on  up  the  walk  he 
would  meet  Lawrence  coming  toward  Dickin 
son's  with  three  other  seniors.  For  he  received 
only  an  absent-minded  glance  without  the  move 
ment  of  an  eyelash.  But  you  could  not  expect 
Lawrence  to  remember  all  the  people  he  met. 
And,  perhaps,  he  was  worshipped  all  the  more 
for  it. 

On  Sunday  he  used  to  gaze  with  his  big 
brown  eyes  from  his  seat  in  the  freshman  sec 
tion  way  over  through  the  juniors  and  past 
some  of  the  seniors,  back  to  Lawrence's  place. 
Sometimes  a  big  head  of  football  hair  was  in 
the  way,  so  that  he  could  not  tell  whether  he  was 
there.  He  was  absent  so  frequently.  But  when 
they  all  arose  to  sing  the  first  hymn,  then  he 
could  see,  and  then  he  would  recall  what  the 
football  column  in  the  paper  he  had  been  read 
ing  before  chapel  reported  that  "President 
Lawrence  "  had  done  or  said,  and  he  wondered 
whether  he  himself  had  read  it  and  how  it  felt 
to  see  one's  own  words  in  type. 

He  seldom  joined  in  the  singing,  Darnell 
noticed,  unless  it  was  "Ein  Feste  Burg"  or 
"Lead,  Kindly  Light,"  and  though  he  could  not 
tell  why,  Darnell  admired  him  all  the  more  for 
his  not  singing  every  time.  At  any  rate,  it  was 


Hero  Worship 


just  like  him  to  stand  there  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  and  his  aristocratic  head  thrown 
back  and  look  dark  and  grave  and  mysterious. 
He  always  looked  especially  so,  Darnell  thought, 
in  chapel.  His  mien  seemed  to  be  haughty  and 
kingly,  not  merely  dignified  and  exclusive  like 
that  of  many  upper-classmen.  Lawrence  when 
a  freshman  could  never  have  been  hazed  or 
guyed.  He  could  not  imagine  him  stooping  to 
haze  anyone  either. 

Lawrence  could  do  anything.  Anyone  could  see 
that  from  his  eyes  and  chin  and  the  straight, 
firm  mouth  with  the  thin  lips.  Darnell  knew 
very  well  that  Lawrence  could  stand  high  in  his 
class  if  he  wanted  to.  Probably  he  could  play 
football.  He  was  built  well  enough.  Darnell 
thought  it  would  not  be  quite  Lawrence's  style 
to  play  football.  He  would  hate  to  see  him 
tackled  or  rolling  in  the  mud.  That  would  never 
do  for  him.  Lawrence,  he  thought,  would  not 
have  played  on  the  team  if  he  were  asked.  Dar 
nell  had  been  a  Princeton  man  less  than  a  month. 

But  he  had  what  was  far  better  than  playing 
on  the  team — the  management  of  it.  And  he  was 
just  right  as  he  was.  He  was  a  dignified,  weighty 
senior,  respected  by  all  and  feared  by  many,  no 
doubt,  and  a  man,  not  a  boy,  who  had  travelled 
much  and  lived  much  and  had  had  all  sorts  of 

99 


Hero  Worship 


experiences  in  his  younger  days.  He  was  old 
now,  nearly  twenty -two. 

But  the  most  wonderful  thing  about  him  was 
his  composure  and  his  commanding  reserve. 
He  had  the  look  of  the  gentleman.  His  manner 
seemed  altogether  impervious  to  excitement.  He 
was  master  of  every  situation.  To  have  such  a 
man  in  their  classes  must  have  been  rather  em 
barrassing  to  the  professors.  Darnell  supposed 
that  the  other  Lawrences  were  rather  afraid  of 
him  when  he  came  home. 

His  perfect  command  of  himself  and  of  every 
one  and  of  everything  about  him  was  what  most 
impressed  the  freshman.  That  was  the  reason 
that  when  his  idol  fell,  it  jarred  him. 

On  Thanksgiving  evening  his  head  was  throb 
bing  and  his  ears  ringing  with  the  echo  of 
horns  and  cheers,  and  before  his  eyes  were  flash 
ing  little  kodak  recollections  of  how  the  line 
looked  when  the  ball  was  put  in  play,  and  how 
the  crowd  waved  and  yelled  when  the  full-back 
tried  for  a  goal.  But  there  was  a  lot  of  aunts 
and  cousins  and  things-in-law  for  dinner,  whom 
he  had  to  kiss  and  smile  at  when  they  said, 
"How  you  have  grown!"  He  wanted  to  get 
near  some  class-mate  and  put  his  arm  about 
him  and  talk  it  all  over,  like  any  other  healthy 

100 


Hero  Worship 


young  man  after  the  game.  And,  as  early  as 
he  decently  could,  he  slipped  on  his  big  new 
coat  and  stole  out  by  the  basement  door. 

He  walked  down  the  avenue  to  Madison 
Square,  getting  jostled  and  excited  once  more. 
Noisy  gangs  of  fours  and  eights  and  dozens 
were  marching  and  dancing  along  the  street. 
Some  wore  orange,  others  blue.  Some  were 
students  at  various  colleges,  most  of  them  had 
never  seen  one. 

He  went  into  the  Hoffman.  Closely  packed 
streams  of  men  were  crowding  in  and  out.  The 
air  was  hot  and  there  was  a  confused  din  of  many 
voices.  He  worked  his  way  to  the  end  of  the 
glaring  room,  but  saw  none  of  his  intimates  and 
but  few  fellows  that  he  had  ever  seen  before. 
Most  of  the  crowd  were  of  the  sort  he  had  seen 
on  the  street,  young  men  of  the  town  with  col 
lege  ribbons  all  over  them,  and  such  boisterous 
noises  grated  on  him,  so  he  started  out  again. 
Some  hoarse  cheering  and  husky  laughter  made 
him  turn  and  look  toward  the  corner  where  the 
throng  was  thickest.  Then  he  hurriedly  pushed 
his  way  through  the  crowd  to  gain  a  nearer  view 
of  what  he  saw  upon  the  table. 

He   tried  to   persuade   himself   that    it    was 
someone  else.     He  did  not  understand  how  he 
could  be  among  people  of  this  sort. 
101 


Hero  Worship 


But  there  was  no  mistaking  that  mouth, 
though  he  had  never  seen  the  hair  hanging  down 
that  way,  nor  the  eyes  as  they  were  now.  About 
the  neck  was  the  rim  of  a  hat. 

Suddenly  two  other  fellows  brushed  past 
Darnell.  He  looked  up  and  thought  he  remem 
bered  having  seen  their  faces  on  the  campus. 
They  seemed  to  be  excited,  and  they  wedged 
their  way  roughly  through  the  crowd  to  the  table. 
"  Leave  him  alone,"  one  of  them  was  calling  out 
above  the  din.  Brushing  aside  some  slight  in 
terference,  they  picked  up  the  heap  from  the 
table,  half  carried  it  through  the  crowd,  saying, 
as  they  went  along,  "  You're  all  right,  Harry. 
Brace  up,  Harry,  you're  all  right,"  and  paying 
no  attention  to  the  crowd,  they  hurried  across 
the  room  to  the  Twenty -fourth  Street  entrance 
and  disappeared. 

For  a  moment  the  freshman  only  stared  at  a 
long,  tall  clock  and  wondered.  Then  he  sud 
denly  turned  and  hurried  out  into  the  street. 

It  was  no  affair  of  his.  The  others  were  there. 
They  were  the  ones  to  take  care  of  him.  But 
the  electric  light  had  given  him  one  glimpse,  and 
for  the  moment  it  was  very  revolting.  He  turned 
and  walked  slowly  home. 

He  tried  to  reason  himself  out  of  it.  It  was 
nothing  to  feel  so  queer  over.  It  was  not  such 
102 


Hero 


a  terrible  thing,  after  all,  especially  after  hav 
ing  the  game  turn  out  as  it  did.  Most  every 
young  man  was  indiscreet  at  some  time  or 
other.  Lawrence  was  a  young  man  like  many 
others,  only  he  happened  to  have  been  indiscreet 
under  unfortunate  circumstances.  That  was  all. 
It  seemed  worse  than  it  really  was. 

But  he  did  not  want  Lawrence  to  be  like 
others.  That  was  just  the  point.  If  it  had 
been  someone  else  he  would  not  have  cared. 
But  for  Harry  Lawrence,  Lawrence  the  superb, 
his  Lawrence,  there  in  that  glaring  place — 
jeered  at  and  made  a  fool  of — by  that  mob  of 
muckers.  It  was  all  wrong. 

"Well,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  went  up 
stairs  to  his  room,  "  I  suppose  I'm  too  much 
of  a  kid,  and  I'll  have  to  get  over  my  kid  ways 
of  looking  at  things.  The  sooner  the  better." 

But  all  the  same,  it  hurt,  and  when  he  was 
dropping  off  to  sleep,  he  was  startled  into  wake- 
fulness  again  by  one  of  those  queer,  sudden 
pangs  which  make  one  ask,  "What  is  it  I've 
lost?" 


103 


THE    RESPONSIBILITY   OF 
LAWRENCE 


THE   RESPONSIBILITY  OF 
LAWRENCE 


MANY  fellows  seem  to  think  that  all  an  ath 
letic  officer  has  to  do  is  to  look  important 
and  travel  about  the  United   States  with   his 
team  and  make  out  a  bill  for  expenses. 

It's  easy  enough  to  carry  a  japanned  tin  box, 
and  sell  tickets  through  a  hole  where  the  wind 
blows,  as  treasurer.  As  president  it  is  a  fine 
thing  to  make  frequent  trips  to  New  York,  and 
attend  conclaves  that  are  secret,  and  make 
speeches  in  conventions  and  read  your  opinions 
next  morning  in  the  paper  in  fine  long  sentences 
prefixed  with  "  President  So-and-so  said  last 
night,"  and  to  be  lunched  by  famous  authori 
ties  and  interviewed  by  rapacious  reporters  who 
think  that  because  the  public  supports  football 
they  have  a  right  to  see  all  the  inside  workings 
of  intercollegiate  diplomacy.  All  this  is  the 
pretty  part  of  it. 

107 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


But  like  all  greatness  there  is  a  deal  of  hard 
hustling  and  perspiration  and  discouragement 
and  annoyance  underneath.  So  much  so,  that 
one  seldom  has  time  to  tell  himself  how  fine  a 
thing  it  is  to  wear  a  'varsity  blazer  with  the 
orange  monogram  on  the  breast-pocket.  And 
this  is  usually  heavy  with  bills  to  pay  and  mem 
oranda  of  things  to  see  to.  Besides,  the  respon 
sibility  is  tremendous. 

H.  Lawrence,  Ninety  Blank,  had  blood-shot 
eyes  this  morning,  and  he  hurried  down  the  clat 
tering  iron  stairs  of  West  College  tying  his  neck 
tie.  As  the  ugly  entry  door  slammed  behind 
him  he  did  not  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
begin  to  whistle,  as  he  used  to  do  in  under 
classman  days,  because  he  was  not  sauntering 
over  to  Keunion  to  smoke  a  pipe,  or  down  to 
Witherspoori  to  loaf  until  the  next  lecture.  He 
glanced  at  the  clock  in  old  North  tower  and  hit 
up  his  pace. 

He  had  given  orders  to  the  team  to  be  at  the 
station  with  their  grips  packed  at  9.38,  and  be 
fore  that  time  he  had  to  wire  a  member  of  the 
Graduate  Advisory  Committee,  asking  where 
he  could  find  him  that  evening,  and  to  an  offi 
cial  of  the  Manhattan  Athletic  Club  that  he 
should  not  be  able  to  consider  his  proposition 

108 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


at  present,  and  to  the  manager  of  a  Southern 
college  football  team  that  he  regretted  that  all 
Princeton's  open  dates  were  now  filled,  and  to 
the  Jersey  City  Station  restaurant  to  prepare  a 
luncheon  of  training  food  for  twenty  men,  and 
not  to  roast  the  beef  to  death  this  time.  After 
that  he  would  have  to  call  upon  the  dean  and 
find  out  whether  the  faculty  had  decided  to  let 
Harrison  play  football  or  not,  and  find  and  be 
nice  to  another  member  of  the  faculty  who  was 
indignant  because  seventeen  grand  stand  tickets 
had  not  been  saved  for  him  and  his  wife's  rela 
tives  at  the  last  Saturday's  game,  and  then  hur 
ry  to  the  station  by  way  of  the  bank,  where  he 
would  ask  if  they  had  heard  anything  more 
about  that  protested  check,  while  he  was  mak 
ing  a  good  one  out  for  himself,  and  then  see  to 
it  that  all  the  team  and  subs  were  flocked  to 
gether  and  pushed  into  the  train  and  made  to 
stay  there  until  told  to  get  out  and  play  foot 
ball.  Some  of  which  would  have  been  more 
properly  the  duties  of  Sinclair,  the  treasurer, 
who  was  not  catching  on  as  rapidly  as  Lawrence 
thought  he  should. 

He  took  long,  strong  strides  and  looked 
straight  ahead  of  him,  which  was  in  the  direction 
of  an  old  shop  opposite  the  gate,  with  a  pictu 
resquely  warped  roof  which  he  did  not  see. 

109 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


He  did  not  see  the  fellows  along  the  walk 
either,  and  those  he  did  not  cut  he  nodded  to 
absently  without  removing  his  frown.  This 
caused  certain  passers-by  to  shake  their  heads 
and  say,  "  Harry  Lawrence  is  getting  a  swelled 
head  since  he's  become  so  important,"  especially 
those  who  greatly  wanted  to  be  important  them 
selves  but  weren't,  and  so  had  plenty  of  time 
to  criticise  those  who  were. 

But  Lawrence,  with  a  half  dozen  unopened 
letters  in  his  pocket  which  he  would  read  on 
the  train  going  up,  did  not  dream  of  being  crit 
icised.  And  if  he  had  he  would  not  have  felt 
very  badly  about  it.  He  did  not  have  time. 

Nor  would  he  have  had  time  to  stop  and 
thank  his  good  friends  Nolan  and  Linton,  who, 
when  Lawrence  had  rushed  by  with  one  of 
those  "  How-do's  "  which  make  one  think  that 
one's  name  has  been  forgotten,  had  looked 
worried  and  then  said,  "  Harry  11  kill  himself  be 
fore  the  end  of  the  season,"  while  Lawrence 
tore  open  a  telegram  with  which  the  boy  met 
him  in  front  of  College  Offices  and  hurried  on. 
He  had  110  time  for  breakfast,  because  the  man 
had  forgotten  to  wake  him,  and  the  night  before 
he  had  been  handling  the  files  of  applications 
for  the  Thanksgiving  game  seats  with  Sinclair 
and  dictating  to  a  stenographer  until  2  A.M. 
no 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


Every  evening  from  eight  until  midnight 
there  was  a  reception  in  his  room,  with  Sinclair 
to  help  receive.  It  began  when  they  came  in 
from  the  club  after  dinner,  with  a  workman  or 
two  from  the  town  waiting  in  the  entry,  who 
touched  their  hats  and  said,  "Please,  sir,  Mr. 
McMaster  says  this  bill  is  correct."  Then  would 
come  members  of  the  team  who  wanted  the 
management  to  remove  conditions  for  them,  and 
coachers  who  wanted  to  talk  serious  business 
and  had  but  a  short  time  to  spare,  and  some  of 
the  fellows  who  wanted  to  smoke  and  chat  and 
seemed  hurt  when  told  to  get  out ;  and  in  addi 
tion,  the  hordes  of  applicants  for  seats,  who  kept 
running  in  and  out,  incessantly  buzzing  in  the 
management's  ears  like  flies,  and  just  as  pestifer 
ously  merciless,  from  eight  until  twelve,  when 
the  door  was  locked. 

These  represented  all  phases  of  college  life, 
from  the  professor  who  "never  incurred  any 
difficulty  in  getting  all  the  seats  he  wanted  in 
previous  years "  to  the  young  freshman  whose 
mother  knew  the  management's  mother,  and 
thought  he  might  be  especially  considered  for 
that  reason,  and  including  class-mates  who  made 
it  a  personal  matter  of  friendship,  and  thought 
they  ought  to  be  considered  ahead  of  mere 
strangers  for  that  reason.  Also  emissaries  from 
in 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


a  certain  woman's  college,  who  must  have  tick 
ets  before  they  are  put  on  sale,  because  the 
poor,  timid  girls  could  not  stand  in  line  with  all 
those  men,  and  cousins  of  members  of  the  team, 
and  many  others,  all  of  whom  furnished  an  ex 
cellent  reason  for  being  entitled  to  just  a  little 
more  consideration  than  anyone  else.  None  of 
which  counted  them  anything  in  Lawrence's 
reign. 

But  this  was  not  what  made  Lawrence  scowl 
and  look  fierce  as  he  hurried  by  a  little,  wist 
ful-eyed  freshman,  whom  he  did  not  see,  and 
who  had  been  hoping  all  the  way  from  the 
First  Church  gate  to  the  dean's  that  maybe  this 
time  the  senior  would  recognize  him.  Law 
rence  was  used  to  all  this,  and  he  liked  it.  He 
liked  having  a  lot  of  things  to  attend  to  in  a 
short  time,  to  see  many  people  and  give  orders 
and  talk  fast  and  feel  his  brain  warm  with 
quick  thinking.  He  enjoyed  responsibility,  and 
he  thought  it  was  thrilling  to  get  in  a  situation 
and  then  take  a  long  breath,  so  to  speak,  and 
command  it.  Nor  was  he  too  old  to  fully  ap 
preciate  his  privilege  of  being  on  intimate  terms 
with  ancient  heroes  of  the  football  field,  and  he 
was  glad  to  be  thrown  with  so  many  other 
prominent  alumni.  And  he  took  great  satis 
faction  in  watching  the  long-headed  Advisory 

113 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


men  begin  to  acknowledge  by  their  attitude 
that  although  an  undergraduate  he  had  reliable 
executive  ability  and  somewhat  of  independent 
resource  besides.  One  of  them  clapped  him  on 
the  back  one  day  and  said,  "  Good  !  That's  the 
proposition  we'll  make  'em,"  and  added,  "  You 
are  your  father's  own  son,  Lawrence." 

Except  that  he  would  have  liked  to  have  a 
little  time  to  loaf  and  enjoy  life,  he  was  quite 
well  pleased  with  being  president  of  the 
P.  U.  F.  B.  A.,  and  did  not  care  a  rap  whether 
the  college  considered  him  arrogant  or  not. 
He  was  attending  to  his  own  business  and  had 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  he  was  doing 
it  rather  well,  with  the  attendant  satisfaction  of 
having  had  the  honorable  position  given  him  by 
the  vote  of  the  college  body  without  his  or  his 
friends'  boot-licking  one  of  them  for  it.  And 
that  is  one  of  the  most  satisfactory  feelings  in 
the  world. 

The  thing  that  troubled  him  was  a  letter  in 
his  pocket.  That  was  the  reason  that  when  the 
ninth  old  grad.  approached  him  on  the  field 
and  said,  "  Say,  Lawrence,  just  between  us  now, 
what  do  you  think  of  the  chances  with  Yale  ?  " 
he  replied,  curtly,  "  How  do  I  know  ? "  and 
hurried  on  up  the  side  lines.  This  was  de 
cidedly  fresh,  and  he  jumped  on  himself  after- 

113 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


ward  because  he  did  not  believe  in  letting  pri 
vate  affairs  interfere  with  business.  Usually 
he  could  stand  a  dozen  old  graduates. 

The  letter  had  come  the  day  before.  It  was 
from  his  father  and  enclosed  Lawrence's  No 
vember  allowance.  He  never  received  but  one 
letter  a  month  from  the  governor,  and  it  nearly 
always  contained  two  statements :  "  Enclosed 
please  find  .  .  ."  and  "  Your  mother  and  all 
are  well,"  both  of  which  make  very  agreeable 
reading. 

This  time  the  letter  was  not  dictated,  but 
written  in  the  Colonel's  own  small,  straight 
hand,  and  there  was  an  extra  paragraph.  It 
ran  thus  :  "  Had  I  known  what  this  official  po 
sition  of  yours  involved,  the  amount  of  time, 
the  number  and  variety  of  interruptions,  and  the 
vulgar  prominence  that  your  name  and  move 
ments  occupy  in  the  press,  I  should  never  have 
given  my  consent,  which,  as  you  may  remember, 
I  did  reluctantly,  to  your  acceptance  of  it.  In 
my  opinion  what  you  are  learning  at  college 
could  better  be  acquired  at  home  :  a  little  of 
business  down-town  with  me,  your  other  ac 
complishments  up-town  in  the  clubs  and  other 
places  with  your  friends."  This  was  not  the 
sort  of  letter  to  do  any  good. 

"  '  Your   other   accomplishments  '—now  what 

114 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


the  devil  does  lie  mean  by  that,  I  wonder  ?  " 
thought  Lawrence.  And  then  he  folded  the 
letter  and  tossed  it  into  a  pigeon-hole  marked 
"  Unanswered,"  and  turned  his  attention  upon 
a  large  blue-print  marked  "  Stand  B  "  and  tried 
to  assure  himself  that  the  reason  his  mind  kept 
jumping  back  to  pigeon-hole  "  Unanswered " 
was  because  he  was  sorry  at  being  too  busy  to 
study,  and  disliked  having  such  a  low  stand  in 
class.  But  it  wasn't  his  class  standing  that 
kept  him  awake  until  old  North  struck  five. 

After  this  when  in  New  York  he  did  not  go 
up-town  to  dine  with  the  family  as  often  as 
formerly.  When  he  did  his  father  merely 
said,  "  Judge  Hitchcock  told  me  he  saw  you  on 
Broadway  last  Wednesday,"  and  similar  re 
marks  in  a  casual  tone. 

"Yes,  sir,"  Harry  would  reply,  with  his  at 
tention  on  the  crest  on  his  plate. 

Then  each  would  wonder  what  the  other 
meant,  until  Helen  would  interrupt  with,  "  By 
the  way,  I  saw  by  the  Tribune  this  morning 
that  ( President  Lawrence  of  Princeton '  says 
that  Yale  will  beat  Harvard  at  Springfield.  So 
it's  all  right  then,  Winston."  He  was  her  hus 
band,  Yale  '86,  and  Helen  was  a  good  sister, 
who  had  a  large  intuition  and  knew  things. 

On  Thanksgiving  Day  the   College   of  New 

115 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 

Jersey  went  up  to  New  York  feeling  quite  cer 
tain  of  winning  the  game.  The  alumni  said  we 
would  win.  The  heelers  doubled  their  bets. 
The  coachers  were  sure  we'd  win.  Most  of  the 
authorities  conceded  the  victory  to  Princeton. 
The  team  were  confident  of  winning.  Yale  won. 
During  the  dinner  after  the  game,  Lawrence 
was  dignified  and  silent.  People  thought  he 
was  rattled,  if  anyone  thought  about  anything 
else  than  the  one  big,  sad  fact.  He  presided 
gracefully  though.  He  was  very  good  to  look 
at.  The  dinner,  which  is  usually  very  long,  was 
wound  up  early,  few  being  unwilling,  and  Law 
rence  helped  put  one  of  the  blubbering  backs  to 
bed  who  had  taken  too  much  for  a  training 
stomach  and  head.  Then  he  went  downstairs, 
saying,  "  Now,  then,  my  responsibility  is  over 
with.  I  am  going  to  have  a  good  time." 


116 


HE  had  done  it  hard  because  he  did  every 
thing  hard.  It  had  lasted  several  days 
and  ended  in  a  hospital  in  West  Philadelphia, 
where  he  had  three  stitches  put  in  his  forehead. 
Now  he  was  back  in  his  old  room  in  West 
College,  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  drumming 
on  the  arms  of  his  chair  and  staring  straight  at 
his  feet,  which  were  upon  the  roller-top  desk. 
Dark  rings  were  under  his  eyes  and  he  told 
himself  that  he  had  had  a  good  time. 

He  was  thinking  that  it  was  quite  a  story 
book  coincidence  that  they  should  have  come 
together,  those  two  letters.  They  were  so  dif 
ferent  and  yet  so  much  the  complement  of  each 
other. 

The  first  was  from  his  father.  He  had  torn  it 
open  with  his  pen,  as  he  would  any  other  letter, 
and  though  he  saw  that  it  was  several  pages  in 
length  and  knew  intuitively  that  it  would  not  be 
like  any  other  letter  he  had  ever  read,  he  had  de 
liberately  rolled  up  the  envelope  to  get  a  light 
for  his  pipe  from  the  fire,  and  he  had  stretched 

117 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


out  in  the  chair  again  as  he  was  before,  with  his 
legs  sprawled  out  in  front  and  elbows  resting  on 
the  arms,  holding  the  letter  before  his  face. 

Then  he  had  commenced  to  smoke  very  hard, 
and  presently  stopped  rocking  back  and  forth 
as  he  read  the  words  written  in  that  clear,  even 
hand,  without  a  flourish  or  a  superfluous  mark, 
words  that  had  caused  him  to  gnaw  the  mouth 
piece  of  his  pipe  as  they  burned  their  way  into 
him.  And  all  the  while  he  pictured  to  himself 
a  tall  figure  in  a  smoking -jacket  trimmed  with 
white  braid  sitting  up  straight  and  rigid  at  his 
desk  in  the  corner  of  the  cosey  inner  room  of 
the  office  in  William  Street,  and  recalled  how 
once,  when  an  absconding  clerk  had  left  a  tem 
porary  cloud  on  the  name  of  the  firm,  the  old, 
steely  eyes  had  flashed  under  the  lowering  brows 
as  the  old  gentleman  had  taken  his  seat  at  the 
breakfast-table,  where  he  ate  nothing. 

The  letter  sounded  very  like  the  governor. 
There  was  no  mistaking  its  meaning.  It  was  a 
succinct  and  comprehensive  report  of  dissatis 
faction  at  the  younger  Lawrence's  methods,  with 
a  list  of  debts  of  filial  affection  and  memoranda 
of  overdraws  on  parental  patience  covering  the 
last  three  years,  and  accompanied  by  a  brief 
prospectus  for  the  unpromising  future.  It  was 
the  sort  of  a  letter  he  would  have  fancied  a 

118 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


stately  old  gentleman  like  his  father  that  was 
proud  of  his  name  writing  to  a  son  like  himself 
that  had  disgraced  it. 

Only  it  would  have  been  just  as  well,  Law 
rence  thought,  to  have  omitted  that  part  of  the 
letter.  He  was  quite  willing  to  admit  most  of 
the  hard  things  his  father  said  of  him  because 
they  were  facts,  but  this  about  dishonorable 
cowardice  and  the  family  name  was  going  a  lit 
tle  too  far,  and  he  told  himself  that  he  did  not 
quite  see  how  he  could  stand  that  from  anyone. 
And  he  sat  up  straight  and  pressed  hard  on  the 
arms  of  his  chair  and  looked  very  like  the  indig 
nant  old  Colonel  who  had  written  the  words. 

It  was  uncalled  for,  it  was  unjust,  it  was  ri 
diculous.  If  his  father  would  stop  to  think  of 
things  as  they  really  were  in  this  world,  thought 
Lawrence,  Ninety  Blank,  these  little  shortcom 
ings  of  his  would  not  appear  a  bit  worse  than 
those  of  some  of  the  very  same  young  men  in 
town  whose  industry  and  clean  business  ability 
the  Colonel  so  much  admired,  and  whom  he 
spoke  of  as  the  hope  or  flower  or  something  of 
Manhattan's  commercial  supremacy  or  some 
thing. 

It  was  merely  that  he  happened  to  be  indis 
creet  the  last  time  he  was  having  a  good  time. 
He  had  made  a  little  too  much  noise,  and  the 

119 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


echo  had  reached  a  number  of  people  in  town. 
That  was  all.  It  was  hard  luck,  but  it  did  not 
amount  to  enough  to  become  dramatic  over. 
Merely  because  his  great-grandfather  did  some 
thing  and  his  grandfather  was  something  was 
no  reason,  as  far  as  he  could  see,  why  the 
Lawrences  should  have  unique  moral  stand 
ards.  The  governor  was  certainly  getting  old. 

Then  he  had  carefully  arranged  the  leaves 
of  the  letter  in  order,  mechanically  folded  and 
put  them  in  a  pigeon  -  hole  of  the  desk,  and 
opened  and  spread  out  the  other  letter  before 
him.  But  he  did  so  unconsciously,  for  he  was 
staring  straight  out  ahead  of  him  into  the  face 
of  the  future,  which  had  expressionless  features. 
His  father  had  concluded  with  "  Signify  to  me 
at  once  your  intention  of  a  complete  change  in 
your  career,  or,  notwithstanding  your  nearness 
to  graduation,  I  shall  take  you  out  of  college 
and  put  you  at  work  in  Van  Brunt's."  That 
is  not  the  way  a  boy  likes  to  be  written  to. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't  think  I'd  do  all  that  if  I 
were  you."  He  could  not  abide  his  father's 
tone  when  he  spoke  of  taking  him  out  of  college 
or  putting  him  at  work,  or  doing  anything  with 
him.  He  was  still  young  enough  not  to  fancy 
being  considered  young. 

And  then  the  actuality  of  the  situation  oc- 

130 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


curred  to  him,  and  he  was  reminded  that  al 
though  twenty-one  he  had  not  a  cent  of  his  own, 
and  that  there  was  no  place  in  the  world  to  go 
to  or  a  thing  that  he  could  do  to  make  money 
enough  to  even  pay  his  debts. 

"  Picture  of  a  young  man  taken  out  of  college 
because  he  is  bad."  He  smiled  broadly  at  him 
self  in  the  glass  over  the  mantelpiece.  But  it 
wasn't  very  funny. 

And  it  was  at  this  point  that  he  dropped  his 
eyes  to  read  his  father's  words  once  more,  and 
was  startled  for  an  instant  to  see  a  strange  hand 
writing,  and  then  remembered  the  other  letter. 
He  was  again  startled  by  the  first  words  that 
met  his  glance.  "  Haven't  you  had  enough  of 
college  ?  "  At  the  top  of  the  paper  was  the 
name  of  a  La  Saile  Street,  Chicago,  firm.  It 
was  not  so  very  queer  after  all.  It  was  only 
that  it  was  so  startliugly  apropos.  He  read  the 
letter  in  eager  gulps.  Then  he  read  it  again. 

It  was  from  his  friend  Clark,  who  had  been 
so  kind  to  him  when  he  was  out  there.  And 
now  he  was  still  more  kind.  It  was  singular 
that  the  offer  should  come  just  now,  on  that 
very  day,  at  that  very  hour.  He  would  wire 
back  his  acceptance  that  afternoon.  "Now,  of 
course,  it  is  too  bad  to  make  you  stop  in  the 
middle  of  your  last  year,"  the  letter  ran,  "  but 

131 


Tl)e  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


we  can't  hold  it  open  after  the  first  of  January. 
I  know  what  a  big  concession  you  consider  it 
for  a  New  Yorker  to  come  to  Chicago,  but  you 
know  better  than  to  be  prejudiced.  You  know 
the  crowd  you'll  blow  with  and  the  clubs  you'll 
be  in,  and  as  the  situation  is  something  ex 
traordinary  to  be  offered  to  so  young  a  man, 
I  hope  you'll  wire  me  your  acceptance  at  once. 
The  mature  judgment  you  showed  in  conduct 
ing  .  .  .  "  These  words  came  to  his  heated 
brain  like  a  cool  lake-breeze.  This  was  what 
he  wanted  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world 
just  now,  to  get  away  from  his  present  sur 
roundings,  and  to  start  anew,  where  he  would 
be  his  own  master,  making  his  own  money  and 
disposing  of  it  as  it  suited  him,  and  responsible 
to  no  one  for  the  use  he  made  of  it  or  his  time. 
He  wanted  to  be  free. 

The  bell  in  Old  North  broke  in  on  him.  He 
looked  at  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  was 
surprised  to  see  that  it  was  only  four,  and  that 
it  must  have  been  but  a  half  hour  since  he  re 
ceived  those  two  letters.  Then  he  remembered 
that  he  had  a  lecture  at  that  hour.  It  made 
him  smile  to  think  of  it. 

But,  it  occurred  to  him,  it  would  be  a  right 
good  idea  to  go — he  would  be  going  to  few 
enough  more — anything  to  get  out  of  the  close 

132 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


atmosphere  of  the  room  and  interrupt  the  cur 
rent  of  his  thought.  For  his  thoughts  were 
chasing  each  other  about  in  a  circle,  and  they 
would  not  stop,  although  he  pressed  his  fore 
head  with  both  hands,  as  he  used  to  do  during 
the  football  season.  Lately  his  brain  had  taken 
to  behaving  in  a  very  queer  manner,  and  a 
fellow  he  knew  at  the  College  of  Physicians  and 
Surgeons  had  told  him  that  if  he  did  not  stop 
worrying  about  things  he  would  have  neuras 
thenia  or  something  as  ugly  sounding  as  that. 

As  he  opened  the  entry  door  and  stepped  out 
into  the  open  air  of  the  campus,  the  old  bell  be 
gan  throbbing,  clear  and  strong,  in  his  ears. 
It  somehow  recalled  freshman  year  and  how 
he  used  to  run  to  reach  his  seat  before  it 
stopped  ringing. 

He  was  in  the  crowded  quadrangle  now,  with 
fellows  all  about  him  with  books  or  note-books 
under  their  arms,  whistling  and  singing  and  hal 
looing  and  scraping  their  feet  along  the  walks 
just  as  they  had  always  done.  Over  in  front 
of  Keunion  was  the  usual  crowd  kicking  foot 
ball  and  squabbling  over  their  points.  The 
side  over  by  College  Offices  was  shouting  ex- 
ultingly  "  Nine  to  seven ! "  and  a  fellow  on 
the  side  near  by  was  announcing  with  equal 
conviction,  as  he  turned  the  ball  over  in  his 

123 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


hands  to  punt,  "  Eight  to  seven."  Lawrence 
found  himself  saying  "  Eight  to  seven,"  and  me 
chanically  watched  the  ball  as  it  sailed  through 
the  air  and  lodged  up  in  one  of  the  second-story 
balconies,  and  stopped  to  listen  to  them  set  up 
the  cry,  just  as  he  knew  they  were  going  to, 
"  Thank  you,  up  there,  please,  thank  you-u-u !  " 

It  struck  him  as  queer  that  all  this  was  going 
on  just  as  it  always  had,  without  a  single  varia 
tion  to  show  that  this  day  was  different  from 
other  days.  It  seemed  odd  to  think  that  he 
was  not  to  be  a  part  of  this  any  more.  It  some 
how  seemed  more  odd  than  sad.  He  told  him 
self  that  it  would  be  a  great  relief  to  fly  far 
away  from  it  all. 

Down  the  walk  came  a  group  of  his  own 
class-mates,  carelessly  slouching  along  from  lect 
ure,  laughing  and  joking,  with  their  arms  on 
one  another's  shoulders.  It  was  Ldnton  and 
Nolan  and  Stehman  and  others.  "  Hello,  there, 
Harry ! "  they  said  and  passed  on  down  the  walk. 
Lawrence  turned  and  watched  them.  He  had 
replied  to  their  salute  in  his  usual  manner.  It 
had  seemed  natural  and  his  voice  was  in  perfect 
imitation  of  heartiness,  and  yet  he  could  not 
help  thinking  how  little  difference  it  would 
make  to  him  if  they  all  fell  down  dead.  The 
sight  of  them  bothered,  Nolan's  bow  legs  an- 

124 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


noyed  him.  He  hoped  he  would  never  see 
Nolan  again.  And  this  was  Billy  Nolan ! 

The  bell  was  echoing  and  re-echoing  in  his 
ears,  and  each  stroke  fairly  made  him  jump. 
The  sight  of  so  many  people  and  the  knowl 
edge  that  there  were  others  behind  him  were 
beginning  to  give  him  a  feeling  of  distress.  He 
felt  that  he  could  not  stand  having  so  many 
people  press  close  to  him.  It  was  somehow 
rattling  him.  Everything  he  saw  hurt,  and  he 
only  wanted  to  get  far  away  from  it  all.  For 
he  told  himself  that  he  hated  the  campus  and 
its  life,  and  everything  that  had  to  do  with  it. 
The  very  expression  of  the  buildings  was  of 
fensive  to  him.  He  wanted  to  upset  the  wheel 
barrow  and  its  sticky  contents  when  old  black 
Jiniinie  touched  his  hat  to  him,  and  he  felt  like 
kicking  two  innocent  serninoles  that  hurried 
past  with  quick,  conscientious  steps  that  made 
their  coat-tails  flap  behind.  All  of  this  was 
nervous  nonsense,  and  he  knew  it. 

He  left  the  crowded  walk  and  walked  over 
toward  the  cannon  and  leaned  against  a  nearby 
elm-tree.  Then  he  fixed  his  gaze  steadily  upon 
the  top  of  the  old  cannon  and  tried  to  think  of 
nothing  else.  He  had  learned  to  take  himself 
in  hand  this  way  during  his  overworked  foot 
ball  season.  "  It  isn't  so  bad  as  all  this,"  he 

125 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


said  aloud  to  himself.  "You  are  still  rocky  and 
your  blamed  nerves  are  getting  in  their  work 
again.  That's  all  it  is.  Now,  then,  hold  on. 
You  aren't  a  hysterical  little  school-girl,  you 
know." 

In  a  moment  he  started  on  toward  Dickinson 
Hall  again.  "  We  are  going  to  a  lecture  now," 
he  explained  to  himself  in  a  whisper,  "  and  we're 
going  to  hear  lots  of  interesting  things.  We 
can  talk  over  all  those  other  matters  later  on. 
There's  plenty  of  time,  plenty  of  time." 

He  took  a  long,  full  breath,  as  though  to  hold 
on  tight,  and  threw  up  his  head  and  looked 
squarely  into  a  pair  of  brown  eyes  that  were 
gazing  intently  at  him.  It  was  That  Freshman. 

He  had  often  wondered  why  he  was  constant 
ly  running  across  this  same  little  freshman  with 
the  sensitive  mouth  and  the  large,  thoughtful 
eyes.  He  did  not  know  his  name,  but  he  en 
joyed  observing  from  the  patronizing  height  of 
a  senior  an  air  of  delicate  refinement  in  the 
features  and  movements  of  the  boy.  Some 
times  when  in  a  good  humor  he  nodded  to  him. 
But  just  now  the  peculiar  wistful  gaze  breaking 
in  on  him  in  his  tossed-up  state  of  mind  seemed 
eerie.  For  an  instant  he  had  a  feeling  of  guilty 
fright,  as  if  caught  doing  something.  And  then, 
because  angry  with  himself  for  being  startled 

126 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


by  a  freshman,  lie  blurted  out,  in  a  husky  voice, 
"  Oh,  what  do  you  want  ?  " 

The  under- classman  blushed  and  stepped 
back.  He  said  something  incoherent  ending 
with  "  Why — er — nothing —  I  beg  pardon." 
He  attempted  a  smile,  failed,  colored  more  than 
ever,  dropped  his  eyes  in  embarrassment,  and 
with  a  sort  of  shiver  turned  on  his  heel. 

The  senior,  with  his  own  harsh  voice  still 
echoing  in  his  ear,  stood  there  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  watching  the  younger  boy  shrink 
ing  before  him.  Then  something  inside  of  him 
was  touched.  He  felt  how  brutally  rude  he 
had  been,  and  he  wanted  to  make  amends  for  it. 
He  felt  more  than  that.  He  wanted  to  be  kind 
to  this  boy  with  the  refined  face  ;  he  wanted  to 
be  tender  toward  him,  to  protect  him,  or  some 
thing  queer  and  wild  like  that.  Though  he  did 
not  acknowledge  it  to  himself  tears  were  ready 
to  come  to  his  dark,  blood-shot  eyes  with  the 
dark  rings  under  them,  and  he  had  an  impulse 
to  throw  his  arm  about  the  freshman's  shoulder 
and  say  :  "  You  dear  little  fellow !  "  Neuras 
thenia  could  account  for  some  of  this. 

As  it  was  he  turned  and  followed  the  fresh 
man  from  the  side  of  the  new  bulletin  -  elm, 
where  this  took  place,  to  the  corner  of  the  Old 
North.  Here,  hardly  realizing  what  he  was  do- 

127 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 

ing,  lie  touched  his  shoulder  and  said,  in  a 'gruff 
voice,  though  he  did  not  mean  it  to  be,  "  Don't 
you  want  to  take  a  walk  ?  " 

But  even  if  he  had  stopped  to  think  about  its 
being  an  odd  thing  to  do,  it  would  have  made 
no  difference.  He  was  hardly  in  a  mood  for 
considering  conventionalities. 

After  awhile  he  found  himself  walking  with  the 
freshman  way  out  toward  the  Prep,  school.  To 
the  left  was  the  old  view  of  rolling  fields  and  the 
gentle  hill.  Underfoot  were  the  uneven  stones 
of  the  old  walk  with  water-puddles  in  the  hol 
lo  wed-out  places.  And  there  beside  him  walked 
the  freshman,  talking  in  a  natural  tone  about  a 
fine  tennis-player  that  he  thought  was  coming 
to  college  next  year.  It  was  all  quite  as  if  it 
were  an  ordinary  occurrence. 

Lawrence  could  remember  the  freshman's 
look  of  surprise  as  they  started  across  the  cam 
pus,  and  he  recollected  murmuring  some  apol 
ogy  for  his  rudeness  by  saying  that  he  thought 
it  was  someone  else  at  first.  Then  he  must  have 
started  the  conversation  by  asking  the  freshman 
what  recitation  he  had  just  had.  But  after  that 
it  was  all  a  blank  until  now.  He  was  under  the 
impression  that  he  had  been  nodding  to  people, 
but  he  could  not  remember  who  they  were  or 
anything  about  them  except  a  big-visored,  faded 

128 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


crimson  cap  that  someone  had  on.  Probably  he 
had  been  carrying  on  the  conversation  automat 
ically  with  the  freshman,  but  it  must  have  been 
all  right,  for  the  boy  did  not  look  as  though  any 
thing  strange  had  happened.  But  a  very  great 
deal  had. 

Perhaps  it  was  a  sort  of  hypnotism,  though 
very  likely  it  could  be  explained  as  nothing  of 
the  kind,  but  at  any  rate  from  the  moment  his 
thoughts  had  been  stopped  with  a  jerk  at  meet 
ing  the  freshman  they  had  taken  a  different 
turn.  With  the  boy  at  his  side  and  his  gentle 
voice  in  his  ears  Lawrence  had  begun  thinking 
about  another  red-cheeked  boy  he  had  known 
once ;  and  it  seemed  much  more  than  four 
years  ago.  He  felt  again  the  very  expression  of 
those  old  bright  days  at  school  when  he  took 
prizes  and  played  on  the  eleven.  He  remem 
bered  the  old  field  and  how  the  afternoon  sun 
used  to  reflect  from  one  of  the  windows  near 
by.  There  came  back  to  him  the  very  odor  of 
the  polished  desk  in  the  school-room  where  he 
scratched  H.  L.  L.,  and  all  the  little  details  of 
those  dear  old  days  of  happy  monotony  and  in 
nocent  amusements.  He  felt  again  the  old  ex 
citement  of  an  approaching  vacation.  He  re 
membered  how  he  used  to  check  off  the  days  on 
the  calendar  over  the  mantelpiece,  and  he  re- 

129 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


membered  the  first  trip  he  took  home  alone  and 
the  blue  serge  suit  he  wore,  of  which  he  was  so 
proud,  and  how  he  wondered  who  would  meet 
him  at  the  station,  and  best  of  all,  how  he  used 
to  jump  out  of  the  carriage  and  run  up  the 
steps  of  home  and  meet  the  one  that  came  out 
into  the  hall  to  meet  him.  Joyously  and  in 
nocently  he  used  to  look  up  into  the  soft  gray 
eyes  that  seemed  to  say,  "  I  am  proud  of  my 
boy."  But  that  was  a  peculiar  thing  to  think  of 
just  now.  A  passage  in  his  father's  letter  oc 
curred  to  him.  "  Of  course  I  did  not,  nor  shall  I 
advise  your  mother  of  all  this  " — he  had  had  to 
turn  the  page,  he  remembered,  to  find  the  rest  of 
it — "  it  would  break  her  heart."  "  Of  course,"  he 
said  to  himself,  hurriedly, "  it  wouldn't  do  at  all." 
Then  he  thought  he  did  not  care  to  dwell  upon 
old  times  any  more.  It  was  at  this  point  that 
he  awoke,  so  to  speak,  and  found  himself  walk 
ing  with  this  freshman  whose  name  he  did  not 
know. 

But  instead  of  everything  springing  back  to 
actuality  immediately  as  one  would  suppose,  it 
took  some  time  to  hammer  things  into  seeming 
as  they  really  were  in  their  proper  proportions. 
It  was  like  trying  to  act  sober.  He  began  by 
paying  conscious  attention  to  what  his  young 
friend  was  saying. 

ISO 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


After  all  he  was  only  a  freshman.  He  talked 
like  any  other  fellow  except  that  his  voice  was 
more  gentle,  and  he  had  a  deferential  manner 
when  addressing  him.  Though  rather  young  to 
be  in  college  and  of  unusual  appearance,  there 
was  not  enough  about  him  to  affect  a  fellow  in 
such  a  queer  sentimental  way. 

And  yet  he  did.  To  Lawrence  he  seemed 
different  from  everyone  else  in  the  world.  He 
had  never  experienced  this  peculiar  melting  feel 
ing  toward  anyone  before.  AVhat  was  more,  he 
liked  it,  and  he  had  no  thought  of  laughing  him 
self  out  of  it.  He  had  an  undefined  idea  that  it 
was  doing  him  good.  .He  felt  like  clinging  close 
to  this  companion  who  was  younger  and  seemed 
so  many  times  better  and  purer  than  himself. 

Then  suddenly  the  senior  was  struck  by  some 
thing  he  had  not  remarked  before.  He  waited 
a  moment  to  make  sure.  Then  it  came  again. 
There  was  no  mistaking  it  this  time.  The  re 
fined  voice  was  dragging  in  profanity  at  absurd 
ly  frequent  intervals,  with  every  other  sentence 
almost.  He  had  very  likely  been  doing  so  all 
along.  And  the  odd  part  of  this  was  that  every 
word  of  it  was  making  Lawrence  wince  and 
shiver  like  seeing  a  respectable  woman  drunk. 
It  was  none  of  his  business.  It  was  all  non 
sense.  The  expletives  were  not  very  bad  ones 

131 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


anyway.  But  he  did  not  care  to  stand  any  more 
of  this-,  and  as  abruptly  as  he  had  proposed  the 
walk  he  said  :  "  Oh,  excuse  me,  I  have  an  en 
gagement,"  and  turned  rapidly  toward  the  cam 
pus.  Perhaps  neurasthenia  had  a  hand  in  this 
also. 

He  did  not  stop  to  see  how  the  freshman  took 
it.  He  did  not  want  to  think  of  him  now.  He 
fairly  ran  up  Nassau  Street  with  a  feeling  as 
though  someone  was  after  him.  He  rushed  past 
the  fellows  along  the  walk  and  nearly  bumped 
into  the  three  old  professors  starting  off  with 
the  Irish  setter  for  their  sedate  evening  stroll. 
He  was  trembling  when  he  reached  his  room, 
and  he  slammed  the  door  and  threw  himself 
down  on  the  rug  before  the  fire. 

He  knew  something  was  coming.  He  knew 
what  it  was,  too,  but  he  was  going  to  fight  it  oft* 
as  long  as  he  could.  He  drew  the  end  of  the  fur 
skin  up  over  his  head  and  pressed  hard  with 
both  hands,  as  though  that  would  keep  him  from 
thinking  of  what  he  did  not  want  to  think. 
Then  he  rubbed  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his 
wet  brow  and  tried  to  sneer  the  thing  away  as 
he  had  always  been  able  to  do  at  other  times. 
Bat  this  was  not  at  all  like  any  of  the  other 
times,  and  it  would  not  work.  Besides  his 
nerves  were  in  no  shape  for  a  fight  of  this  sort, 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


and  he  soon  gave  up.  He  let  his  head  fall  back 
against  the  rug  and  he  lay  there  flat  on  the  floor 
while  the  aching  thoughts  came  soaking  over 
him.  All  this  had  been  accumulating  for  many 
days.  The  freshman  had  set  it  off. 

And  it  was  not  as  if  he  had  only  a  little  to 
feel  sorry  over.  He  could  not  even  say,  "  I'm  no 
worse  than  most  fellows,"  for  he  had  gone 
quite  far  indeed,  much  farther  than  anyone  in 
the  world,  except  two  or  three,  had  any  idea  of, 
and  he  had  things  to  remember  that  very  few 
older  sinners  than  he  would  often  care  to  think 
about.  It  seemed  so  certain  to  him  now,  as  he 
lay  there  breathing  hard  and  staring  at  the  fire 
as  though  expecting  it  to  jump  out  at  him,  that 
these  remembrances  were  never  going  to  let  up 
on  him  for  a  single  moment ;  as  long  as  he 
lived,  no  matter  how  he  might  live  in  the  future, 
these  unforgetable  things  were,  from  this  time 
on,  to  rise  up  and  spoil  every  bit  of  sweetness 
in  life  for  him. 

But  that  was  not  what  hurt  the  most.  It  was 
just  and  reasonable  that  all  that  should  be  as  it 
was.  It  was  the  thought  of  his  people  at  home 
that  was  making  him  squirm  and  roll  over 
toward  the  desk  and  then  back  again  toward 
the  fire.  "What  had  they  done  to  deserve  this  ? 
He  could  not  understand.  Aside  from  all  con- 

133 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


si  deration  of  right  and  wrong,  or  wisdom  and 
folly,  he  was  astounded  at  the  thought  of  how 
a  fellow  could  be  so  dead,  dead  unkind.  It 
would  not  seem  possible  at  first.  He  kept  ask 
ing  himself,  "  Is  this  really  true  ?  Is  it  really 
true  ?  " 

For  an  hour  he  lay  there  on  the  floor,  with 
his  remorse  and  his  sick  nerves,  telling  himself 
the  kind  of  a  fellow  he  was,  while  the  rest  of 
the  college  went  to  dinner. 

After  this  came  the  reaction,  the  natural  in 
stincts  of  love  and  yearning  for  the  home  that 
he  had  left.  He  told  himself  how  that  vaca 
tions  would  come,  and  little  Dick,  the  prep., 
would  come,  and  Helen  and  all  would  come  out 
there  to  the  old  place  on  Long  Island — all  but 
one.  His  place  at  the  table  would  be  vacant. 
No,  there  would  be  no  place  for  him.  They 
would  avoid  mentioning  his  name.  They  would 
change  the  subject  when  visitors  referred  to 
him.  After  awhile  visitors  would  learn  not  to 
refer  to  him.  He  would  be  known  as  "  the  one 
that  went  to  the  devil." 

All  his  self-reliance  had  been  squeezed  out 
of  him.  He  did  not  care  to  be  independent 
now.  He  did  not  want  to  be  free.  He  wanted — 
oh,  how  he  wanted ! — a  place  to  go  to  and  peo 
ple  to  care  about  him,  like  everyone  else.  He 

134 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


shrank  from  the  thought  of  standing  alone. 
He  did  not  feel  equal  to  it  He  felt  himself  to 
be  nothing  but  a  boy,  after  all,  a  bad,  foolish, 
wilful,  sick  boy,  and  he  wanted  to  run  home 
and,  just  for  once,  let  his  throbbing  head  fall 
into  his  mother's  lap  and  have  her  hands  smooth 
the  ache  out  of  it.  But  of  course  he  could  do 
nothing  of  the  sort. 

The  more  he  thought  of  it  the  more  impossi 
ble  it  appeared.  Why,  for  four  years — he  half 
arose  from  the  nig  and  his  face  became  hot  at 
the  thought  of  it — for  four  years  he  had  been  do 
ing  things  that  she  would  not  believe  him  capable 
of ;  not  if  he  told  her  himself.  No,  he  was  not 
going  to  sneak  into  the  home-fold  like  a  cow 
ardly  prodigal,  bleating,  "I  have  been  a  bad 
little  boy,  papa.  Take  me  back,  and  I'll  promise 
not  to  be  bad  any  more."  He  was  not  that 
kind.  He  deserved  his  husks,  and  he  meant 
to  chew  them,  even  though  they  stuck  in  his 
throat.  To  keep  away,  he  showed  himself, 
was  one  means  left  him  to  regain  a  little  of  the 
self-respect  that  he  had  lost. 

Then  he  arose  with  something  of  his  former 
indifference  and  laughed  at  himself  a  little. 
"  You've  felt  sorry  for  yourself  long  enough," 
he  said  aloud  ;  "  what  you've  got  to  do  now  is  to 
make  the  best  of  it."  He  started  toward  the 

135 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


desk  to  take  tlie  first  steps  toward  making  the 
best  of  it.  He  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the 
room  and  looked  about  at  the  pictures  and  the 
pipes  and  the  books.  "  I'm  done  with  college," 
he  said,  briskly.  "  Now  I  feel  better." 

He  lighted  a  pipe  to  show  himself  how  much 
better  he  felt,  and  began  to  word  a  telegram 
to  Clark.  That  would  finish  a  good  day's  work, 
he  thought.  A  very  long  day  it  seemed,  too. 
Some  things  were  hazy  and  dream-like.  That 
walk  with  the  freshman —  But  he  did  not  want 
to  think  about  that,  and  he  wrote  down  "  W.  G. 
Clark,  care  West,  Houston  &  Co." 

Yet,  though  he  tried  not  to  listen,  there  began 
coming  up  to  him  the  tones  of  the  gentle  voice 
dragging  in  profanity  with  such  pathetic  pains. 
"  But  I  don't  want  to  think  about  that !  "  Law 
rence  exclaimed.  But  all  the  while  he  wrote  the 
message  he  heard  the  timid  voice  with  the  in 
congruous  words. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  do  that,"  he  said  aloud. 
"  It  bothers  me.  Why  do  you  want  to  do 
that  ?  "  He  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink  and  held 
it  there.  Why  did  he  ?  Then  it  came  over 
him  with  a  blush  of  shame  that  it  was  doubtless 
to  find  favor  in  his  sight.  Most  people  would 
have  guessed  it  before. 

And  then  something  flashed  through  his  mind, 

136 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


something  that  he  had  heard  early  in  the  terra. 
A  freshman  named  Jansen,  whom  he  had  looked 
out  for  when  he  first  arrived,  had  told  him  of  a 
freshman  that  was  always  talking  and  asking 
questions  about  him.  Lawrence  had  entirely 
forgotten  this,  and  the  recollection  of  it  made 
him  start  up  from  his  seat.  This  accounted 
for  the  freshman's  haunting  him  on  the  campus, 
gazing  at  him,  imitating  his  style  of  dress  even. 

It  was  quite  ridiculous.  He  tried  to  sneer  it 
out  of  his  mind.  But  he  could  not.  He  was 
finding  that  there  were  some  things  that  could 
not  be  sneered  away.  But  that  was  not  all. 

A  big  question  met  him  like  a  huge,  choking 
wave — "  What  will  this  boy's  future  be  ?  "  And 
Lawrence  pleaded,  "  Oh,  let  me  alone !  Never 
mind  all  that." 

The  wave  drew  back  and  another  came  drench 
ing  over  him — "  Will  he  do  as  you  have  done  ?  " 

"  Don't,  please  don't !  "  cried  Lawrence. 
There  came  up  before  him  in  his  sick  mind 
lurid,  revolting  scenes,  and  in  them  a  fair-faced 
boy  with  a  sensitive  mouth  learning  to  like  it  all. 
Then  came  a  third  wave — "Who  will  be  re 
sponsible?  What  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it  ?  "  This  was  a  little  too  much  for  Lawrence. 
He  felt  powerless  to  think  it  out  just  now.  He 
would  need  time  for  this.  Unconsciously  he 

137 


The  Responsibility  of  Lawrence 


stepped  back  to  the  rug.  He  lay  there,  very 
quiet,  almost  motionless,  until  far  into  the 
night. 

Then  he  arose,  a  very  different  boy  from 
Lawrence  the  President,  greatly  feared  of  under 
classmen,  and  felt  his  way  through  the  dark  to 
the  bedroom.  Here  he  locked  the  door  and 
prayed  to  God,  as  he  had  been  brought  up  to 
do. 

The  next  morning  one  of  the  clerks,  hurrying 
by  the  ticker  where  Colonel  Lawrence  seemed 
to  be  bending  over  the  tape,  suddenly  ex 
claimed,  "  Why,  what  is  it,  sir  ?  Nothing  seri 
ous,  I  hope  ?  " 

Old  Colonel  Lawrence,  drawing  himself  up 
and  gazing  straight  ahead  of  him  as  he  crum 
pled  a  telegram  in  his  hand,  made  answer,  "  No. 
My  son  is  coming  home  to  spend  Sunday  with 
me.  That  is  all." 

The  clerk  did  not  know  that  they  were  tears 
of  joy. 


188 


FIXING  THAT  FRESHMAN 


FIXING  THAT   FRESHMAN 


LAWKENCE,  Ninety  Blank,  wearily  knocked 
four  under-classrnen  off  the  walk  on  the 
way  from  the  railway  station  to  West  College. 
Then,  feeling  better,  he  dragged  himself  up  the 
entry  stairs,  threw  his  suit-case  at  the  bedroom 
portiere  with  a  sigh  of  relief  and  himself  on  the 
divan  with  a  sense  of  having  done  his  duty. 

The  Glee,  Banjo,  and  Mandolin  Clubs  had 
just  returned  from  their  Christmas  holiday  toui 
through  the  South.  The  trip  had  been  a  suc 
cess  both  in  the  money  and  the  fine  impression 
the  clubs  had  made,  which  latter  would  adver 
tise  the  college.  And  that  is  the  object  of  this 
enterprise  and  is  too  valuable  for  the  trustees 
to  abolish. 

They  had  travelled  in  a  special  train  of  pri 
vate  cars  lent  by  the  parents  of  some  of  the 
members.  They  had  had  a  very  good  time,  be 
cause  a  Glee  club  trip  is  always  bound  to  have 
that,  and  because  Southern  people  know  how  to 

141 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


help  young  men  in  this  respect  about  as  well  as 
any  people  in  the  world.  Lawrence  was  glad 
it  was  over. 

He  had  not  intended  to  go  on  the  trip  this 
year.  He  had  been  on  the  club  since  he  was  a 
freshman.  He  knew  all  there  was  to  know 
about  it,  and  there  could  be  little  novelty  in 
this  sort  of  thing  for  him.  But  that  was  not 
the  reason. 

Of  course  it  was  not.  Harry  Lawrence  en 
joyed  travelling  about  the  country  with  a  rol 
licking  lot  of  congenial  fellows,  and  being  made 
much  of  by  old  grads.,  and  admired  before  the 
glare  of  foot-lights  by  millions  of  attractive 
girls,  and  dancing  with  them  afterwards  until 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  like  any  other 
normal,  healthy  young  man.  It  was  not  because 
he  was  blase.  He  wasn't  that  sort  of  fool. 

In  the  first  place  Lawrence  had  suddenly 
gone  home,  early  in  December,  with  something 
pronounced  by  a  little,  short  doctor  with  mild 
blue  eyes  which  saw  everything  to  be  a  form 
of  neurasthenia.  This  was  brought  on  by  over 
work  and  worry  and  other  causes.  He  had 
held  a  position  of  considerable  responsibility 
during  the  football  season.  He  had  worried 
over  it  a  good  deal. 

Although,  when  he  reached  home,  he  braced 

142 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


up  with  astonishing  rapidity,  he  conceived  a 
notion  that  instead  of  flying  over  the  United 
States  at  the  rate  of  ever  so  many  miles  an 
hour,  he  would  like  very  well  to  sit  still  and 
yawn  by  the  fireplace  at  home  with  slippers  on. 

His  mother  opened  up  the  old  place  on  Long 
Island  for  a  part  of  every  winter,  and  he  thought 
he  could  put  in  a  very  comfortable  old-fashioned 
vacation  out  there  with  her.  He  had  an  idea 
that  it  would  do  him  good  to  take  some  long 
tramps  over  the  meadows  with  a  gun  and  a  dog, 
and  to  spend  whole  afternoons  on  a  horse  with 
pure  country  air  whistling  in  his  ears.  Per 
haps,  if  he  felt  right  cocky,  he  might  borrow 
some  pinks  of  his  brother-in-law  and  ride  to 
the  hounds  with  his  Ass-cousins  on  New  Year's 
Day.  And  the  evenings  would  pass  pleasantly 
enough  in  fighting  with  Helen,  his  married  sis 
ter,  across  the  table,  and  in  guying  his  kid  broth 
er  Dick,  the  prep.  ;  and  then  he  meant  to  have 
many  long  after  -  dinner  smoke-talks  with  his 
father,  with  whom  he  had  recently  become  ac 
quainted.  It  was  on  this  last  account,  as  much 
as  any,  that  he  wanted  to  stay  at  home. 

But  one  of  the  second  basses  had  the  grip 
and  another  a  dead  grandmother,  and  that  side 
of  the  stage  wras  weak  anyway.  So  Doc.  Dev- 
ereaux,  the  leader  of  the  club,  followed  his  two. 

143 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


letters  and  three  telegrams  out  to  Compton  on 
the  Sound,  and  grabbed  Lawrence  by  the  coat- 
collar.  He  had  brought  with  him  a  reprieve 
from  the  little  blue-eyed  doctor,  stating  that 
Lawrence  could  go  if  he  would  promise  to  keep 
on  with  the  hot  and  cold  baths,  and  to  eat  tre 
mendously.  Devereaux  begged  and  pleaded, 
and  put  it  on  grounds  of  personal  friendship. 
When  he  shed  tears,  almost,  and  said,  "For  the 
honor  of  old  Nassau  won't  you,  Harry  ?  "  Law 
rence  looked  bored  and  said  he  would  think 
about  it.  But  only  upon  condition  that  Doc 
would  stay  for  dinner  and  spend  the  night  at 
Comptoii,  which  he  did. 

When  Colonel  Lawrence  came  out  from  town 
and  had  comfortably  finished  his  dinner,  and  in. 
his  stately  fashion  had  taken  out  a  long  black 
cigar,  Harry,  who  had  been  waiting,  said,  "  Now 
then,  father,"  and  told  him  why  Devereaux  was 
there,  and  asked  him  what  to  do  about  it. 

Lawrence,  Fifty  Blank,  knocked  the  ashes  off, 
looked  at  Lawrence,  Ninety  Blank,  and  took 
three  puffs  of  smoke.  "Well,  Harry,"  he  said, 
"  if  the  college  needs  you,  there  is  but  one  way 
of  looking  at  it."  Lawrence,  the  younger,  said 
"Yes,  sir,"  and  packed  his  suit-case. 

Having  decided  to  do  his  duty,  he  made  up 
Jiis  mind  that  while  he  was  about  it  he  would 

144 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing  and  have  a 
good  time.  Of  course  this  was  not  as  satisfac 
tory  to  himself  as  wearing  a  long  face  and  tell 
ing  himself  what  a  martyr  he  was,  but  it  was 
pleasanter  for  his  friends. 

These  trips  are  not  only  good  fun,  they  are 
part  of  one's  education.  They  are  very  broad 
ening.  Lawrence  wanted  to  be  broad-minded. 
The  only  times  he  had  travelled  in  his  own 
country  were  with  the  Glee  Club,  and  he 
thought  every  young  man  ought  to  know  some 
thing  of  his  fatherland. 

He  held  that  most  New  Yorkers  were  narrow- 
minded  in  this  respect,  and  he  did  not  intend 
to  be.  New  York  ways  of  doing  things  were 
good  enough  for  him,  because  they  were  the 
best,  but  he  wanted  to  see  how  other  Americans 
looked  at  things ;  and  this  showed  a  generous 
spirit. 

On  a  previous  trip  he  had  visited  a  portion 
of  the  Western  section  of  his  country,  and  had 
brought  back  several  new  ideas.  For  instance, 
he  was  pleasantly  surprised  to  meet  girls  with 
the  same  innate  ideas  that  he  had  supposed 
were  the  exclusive  possession  of  his  friends  at 
home.  That  was  broadening.  Also  he  had  it 
impressed  upon  him  that  young  women  living  in 
little  towns  he  had  never  heard  of  before  had 

145 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


characteristics,  not  necessarily  innate,  which 
were  calculated  to  make  very  young  men  realize 
that  even  members  of  college  dance  committees 
have  a  thing  or  two  to  learn.  Which  was  still 
more  broadening. 

And  now  he  was  in  Virginia,  surrounded  by 
much  dazzling  full-pulsed  Southern  loveliness. 
He  was  meeting  people  that  had  been  brought 
up  to  consider  themselves  the  aristocracy  of  the 
American  side  of  the  world,  and  they  had  been 
cherishing  this  idea  for  generations  before  New 
York  was  more  than  a  trading-post  of  miserly, 
Indian-cheating  Dutchmen.  They  had  never 
heard  of  the  Lawrences  of  New  York  and  were 
rather  sorry  for  anyone  that  had  to  live  there. 
And  this  was  broadening.  This  was  not  to  be 
about  the  Glee  Club  trip,  nor  about  what  Law 
rence  would  have  done  if  he  had  not  gone,  but 
what  happened  afterward,  and  if  you  read  this 
story  you  may  skip  to  here :  Lawrence  lay  on 
the  divan. 

He  put  his  hands  back  of  his  head  and  tried 
to  tell  himself  how  sick  he  was  of  teas  and  club 
receptions  and  convivial  old  grads.  and  ap 
plause  and  dances  and  chicken-salad  and  girls. 
Cinders  were  in  his  hair.  What  he  wanted 
most  in  all  the  world  was,  first,  someone  to 
carry  him  to  a  Turkish  bath,  second,  someone 

146 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


to  dress  him  in  his  campus  clothes,  and  third, 
Billy  Nolan  to  put  an  arm  around  and  call  names. 

But  this  reactional  feeling  he  knew  was  in 
evitable,  and  he  took  it,  as  he  did  his  sensation 
of  dirtiness  and  indigestion,  as  part  of  the  game. 
There  was  something  else  to  make  him  fidget 
and  frown  on  the  divan. 

Lawrence  had  come  back  to  the  slushy  old 
sunshiny  campus  a  very  different  fellow  from 
the  one  that  used  to  climb  the  stone  steps  from 
the  station,  but  he  had  had  a  month  in  which 
to  become  accustomed  to  it.  Besides,  that  was 
nothing  to  be  sour  about.  He  was  very  well 
pleased  with  being  a  different  sort  of  a  fellow, 
and  had  made  up  his  mind  to  remain  so.  In 
fact,  all  during  the  trip  he  had  been  thinking 
that  he  could  put  in  a  peaceful,  comfortable  time 
now  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  if  it  were  not  for 
one  thing. 

And  as  he  started  across  the  campus  with  a 
roll  of  corduroys  under  his  arm,  and  the  in 
tention  of  taking  a  bath  at  the  club,  the  very 
first  thing  he  saw  was  that  One  Thing. 

There  was  a  "  Hunt's  Discourse  "  under  his 
arm,  and  he  was  running  to  reach  his  seat  be 
fore  the  bell  stopped  ringing,  like  any  other 
freshman.  But  he  was  different  from  every 
other  freshman  in  the  world,  to  Lawrence. 

147 


Fixing  tbat  Freshman 


This  boy,  like  some  of  every  freshman  class 
that  ever  cheered  itself  hoarse,  was  beginning 
to  do  things  his  father  had  not  sent  him  to  col 
lege  for.  And  the  senior  had  an  idea  that  his 
own  example  was  what  had  started  the  boy; 
and  this,  when  you  stop  to  think  of  it,  was  ex 
tremely  conceited  in  him.  He  thought  he  could 
make  the  freshman  stop,  and  this,  when  you 
stop  to  think  of  it,  was  a  hasty  conclusion. 

He  thought  about  it  during  the  time  occupied 
in  splashing  and  spluttering  at  the  club,  and 
most  of  the  time  that  he  was  shivering  and 
whistling  and  putting  on  his  ugliest  sweater  and 
oldest  corduroys  and  most  disreputable  slouch 
hat,  and  his  brown  shooting-coat  with  quail 
blood  on  it.  He  even  thought  of  it  several 
times  while  his  hands  were  deep  down  in  his 
pockets  and  his  shoulders  were  slouched  for 
ward  and  a  pipe  was  in  his  mouth  and  an  arm 
was  around  Jim  Linton  and  they  were  floating 
about  the  campus  calling  hello  to  everybody 
that  was  back. 

The  first  thing  undertaken  by  Lawrence,  the 
entirely  different,  was  the  purchasing  of  some 
fine  large  text-books.  For  his  foremost  duty 
was  of  course  toward  himself. 

He  had  never  bought  any  books  since  fresh 
man  year,  but  he  knew  where  they  were  to  be 

148 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


found,  and  a  poler  named  Stacy  gave  him  a  list 
of  the  ones  he  required. 

They  were  all  nice  new  copies,  with  the 
book-store  smell  about  them.  He  did  not  like 
second-handed  ones,  and  then,  too,  he  was  going 
to  pole  very  hard  and  he  might  wear  them 
out.  Besides,  his  book  bill  had  never  been 
large  —  except  in  his  letters  —  and  he  thought 
he  could  afford  the  extravagance  in  his  senior 
year. 

He  took  great  pleasure  in  writing  his  full 
name  on  the  fly-leaf  with  a  blotty  pen,  Henry 
Laurence  Lawrence,  Jr.,  in  a  flourishless  hand 
like  his  father's.  They  made  quite  an  imposing 
pile  on  the  table,  and  he  felt  proud  of  it.  He 
showed  them  to  the  fellows  that  dropped  in 
that  evening  to  say,  "Glad  to  see  you  back," 
and  ask  him  what  he  thought  of  Southern 
girls.  This  took  until  2  A.M.  So  he  could 
not  attend  to  that  other  matter  until  the  next 
day. 

He  set  the  alarm-clock  before  going  to  bed 
and  said,  "  Now,  then,  to-morrow  I  fix  my  fresh 
man." 

He  jumped  out  with  only  six  hours'  sleep, 
though  he  had  just  finished  a  long  journey 
and  his  nerves  required  more  rest,  all  to  make 
chapel  and  see  his  freshman.  He  saw  him. 

149 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


Although  he  said  only,  "  How  do  you  do  ?  " 
in  a  serious  tone,  he  knew  that  he  was  doing 
his  duty,  and  felt  so  pleased  with  himself  that 
he  went  to  town  that  afternoon  and  took  a 
Turkish  bath  at  his  place  in  Twenty-eighth 
Street — this  was  the  only  way  to  get  the 
cinders  out — and  stole  some  clean  linen  from 
his  brother-in-law's  top  bureau  drawer,  and 
dined  with  the  family  at  home.  Then,  because 
he  had  not  been  with  them  during  Christmas, 
and  because  he  was  to  be  a  poler  for  the  rest 
of  his  college  course  and  would  have  few  such 
chances,  he  stayed  over  Sunday  and  was  given 
a  pensum  for  too  many  unexcused  absences 
when  he  came  back. 

On  Monday,  however,  he  saw  his  freshman 
again.  It  was  on  Nassau  Street.  This  time 
Lawrence  said,  "  Hello  there  !  "  He  saw  him 
once  more  on  Tuesday,  coming  out  of  Whig 
Hall,  and  said,  "  How  are  you,  Darnell  ?  "  and 
smiled  a  little.  He  saluted  the  freshman  in  va 
rious  ways  every  day  but  one  for  a  week. 

This  delighted  the  freshman  very  much,  but 
somehow  had  no  effect  upon  his  morals.  Law 
rence  felt  like  a  man  wasting  breath,  and  he  did 
not  believe  in  wasting  breath  on  under-class- 
men.  This  young  Darnell  was  decidedly  unap- 
preciative.  Besides  it  was  unwarrantably  fresh 

150 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


in  him  to  give  all  this  trouble  to  a  senior,  and 
Lawrence  made  up  his  mind  to  some  day  tell 
him  so. 

If  it  had  been  a  good  hard  jumping-on  that 
were  needed,  Lawrence  thought  he  could  have 
managed,  but  this  thing  required  tact  and  deli 
cacy,  which  he  hadn't.  Some  fellows,  like  Jim 
Linton,  would  not  have  minded  a  queer,  uncon 
ventional  situation  of  this  sort.  Lawrence  was 
not  that  kind.  He  knew  as  little  about  telling 
a  fellowr  that  he  was  on  the  verge  of  making  a 
fool  of  himself  as  he  did  about  informing  peo 
ple  that  they  had  souls,  or  that  they  should 
study  hard.  It  made  him  blush  to  think  of  it. 

Besides,  what  force  would  this  sort  of  thing 
have  coming  from  Lawrence,  Ninety  Blank  ? 
That  was  the  disadvantage  of  having  a  reputa 
tion  like  his.  Nor  could  he  very  wrell  halt  the 
freshman  on  the  campus  and  say,  "  See  here. 
Stop  this.  I  am  a  good  boy  nowr.  You  also 
must  be  a  good  boy."  Ugh  ! 

The  mid-year  examinations  would  be  on  in  a 
week  or  two,  or  three,  and  for  the  present  he 
was  simply  obliged  to  leave  off  reforming  the 
freshman — especially  as  he  had  decided  that 
it  would  look  nice  this  time  for  his  report  to  go 
home  without  any  conditions  on  it.  It  was  his 
duty  to  pole. 

151 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


Study,  after  all,  is  what  one  conies  to  college 
for.  It  would  doubtless  have  displeased  his 
parents  if  they  knew  that  he  was  wasting  valu 
able  opportunities,  which  come  but  once,  over  a 
little  freshman  who  was  no  relative  of  the  Law 
rences. 

He  poled  very  hard  and  was  conditioned  in 
nothing.  So  hard  did  he  work,  indeed,  that 
when  the  long,  nervous  strain  was  over  there 
was  very  little  stuff  left  in  him.  At  the  senior 
dance,  which  came  on  the  evening  after  the  last 
examination,  he  ran  three  girls'  cards,  and  tried 
to  make  each  think  that  she  was  the  only  reason 
he  had  come.  This  has  been  tried  before.  The 
next  day  he  felt  a  slight  touch  of  the  old  trou 
ble. 

He  became  alarmed  about  himself,  felt  his 
pulse,  and  decided  that  he  needed  a  rest.  He 
spent  three  days  and  ten  of  his  new  term  cuts 
at  Lakewood.  The  One  of  the  three  girls  was 
there  spending  Lent. 

When  he  came  back  to  the  campus  he  bumped 
against  that  freshman  by  the  lamp-post  in  front 
of  South  Eeunion.  He  was  walking  with  a 
sportive  young  class-mate  named  Thompson, 
who  was  a  typical  little  fool,  and  Darnell  said 
"  Hello,  Lawrence  ! "  in  a  tone  which  just  missed 
being  fresh,  and  seemed  to  mean  "  See,  I'm  not 

152 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


such  a  poler  as  you  thought."  For  five  min 
utes  Lawrence  forgot  there  was  a  place  called 
Lakewood,  where  tall  pines  murmur. 

That  evening  he  heard  things  about  his  fresh 
man  that  he  did  not  want  to  hear.  They  were 
not  very  bad,  but  quite  enough  so  to  make  Law 
rence  look  up  his  address  in  the  catalogue.  He 
didn't  know  how  to  talk  to  freshmen.  They  near 
ly  all  looked  alike.  But  he  rang  the  door-bell. 

It  was  Saturday  evening  and  Darnell  was  not 
in.  Lawrence  frowned  and  held  that  freshmen 
had  no  business  leaving  their  studies  at  night. 
He  shook  his  head  and  went  back  to  Jim  Lin- 
ton's  room.  The  freshman  had  not  returned 
when  he  called  again  at  eleven. 

Lawrence  now  thought  that  he  had  a  right  to 
be  indignant.  He  had  left  a  comfortable  room, 
a  game  of  whist,  and  three  class-mates,  who  gave 
him  many  abusive  epithets  for  it,  all  to  talk  to 
this  freshman.  And  see  how  he  was  treated! 
Besides,  it  wasn't  as  if  Lawrence  wanted  any 
thing  of  him.  What  pleasure  was  it  to  him  to 
talk  to  a  little  ass  freshman  ?  But  he  was  doing 
his  duty  anyway. 

It  did  not  discourage  him.  He  was  not  that 
sort  of  a  fellow.  He  only  shook  his  head  and 
arose  early  the  next  morning,  which  was  Sun 
day.  He  hurried  through  breakfast  without 

153 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


stopping  to  read  the  papers,  and  marched 
straight  to  the  freshman's  room  on  the  way  to 
morning  service. 

Darnell  was  in  bed  with  a  throbbing  brow 
and  a  slight  attack  of  remorse.  Lawrence  sat 
down  on  a  trunk  which  would  have  held  the 
freshman's  clothes  if  he  had  taken  them  off,  and 
cut  a  good  sermon  by  the  dean  in  order  to  give 
himself  the  chance  of  preaching  one  himself. 

"  Of  course  it  is  not  strictly  any  of  my  busi 
ness,  but  I  think  you  are  making  a  big  mistake. 

"  You  must  know  that  it  is  no  great  pleasure 
for  me  to  go  out  of  my  way  to  call  a  man  a  fool. 
But  you  see  I  have  been  through  all  this  myself 
and  I  know  very  nearly  all  there  is  to  know 
about  it.  I  have  been  a  great  fool  in  college, 
and  if  I  can  do  anything  that  will  prevent  an 
other  from  making  the  mistakes  I  made,  I 
ought  to  go  ahead  and  risk  hurting  his  feelings. 
Oughtn't  I?  There's  nothing  hypocritical  in 
that.  Is  there  ? 

"  This  thing  of  wild  oats,  Darnell,  is  all 
wrong,  all  nonsense,  all  Tommy-rot.  You  know 
that  as  well  as  I  do.  Of  course  many  people 
say —  But  those  that  say  such  things  are  either 
brutes  with  no  finer  sensibilities,  or  else  they 
are  liars,  or  else  they  never  had  any  wild  oats. 
They  don't  know  what  they're  talking  about. 

154 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


"  Now,  of  course,  I'm  only  a  very  young  man, 
after  all.  Older  men,  many  of  them,  would 
laugh  and  call  me  a  young  prig,  I  suppose. 
But  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about  as  regards 
myself,  Darnell.  I  know  the  things  I  have  to 
think  about  and  cannot  forget.  I  know  the 
things  that  come  up  and  stare  me  in  the  face 
and  make  me  ache.  I  know —  But  never  mind 
all  that. 

"  This  is  what  I  want  to  ask  of  you  :  Tell  me 
— you've  had  your  little  taste  of  it  now,  the 
glamour  is  rubbed  off,  you  find  there  is  not  quite 
so  much  in  it  as  you  thought — tell  me  honestly, 
my  boy,  do  you  believe  it  pays  ?  Don't  you 
think  that  one  morning  like  this,  with  a  head 
such  as  you  have  now,  and  the  thoughts  inside 
of  it,  with  a  sight  of  those  photographs  over 
there  on  the  bureau,  is  enough  to  counterbal 
ance  all  the  fun  there  is  in  a  month  of  last 
nights  ?  " 

To  this  long  speech  the  freshman  made  no 
reply,  because  Lawrence  did  not  say  a  word  of 
it  aloud.  In  fact  most  of  those  grand-stand  re 
marks  were  not  thought  out  until  late  that  night 
in  bed,  while  rolling  over  trying  to  get  to  sleep. 
He  would  not  have  voiced  them  to  the  fresh 
man  anyway.  Of  course  not. 

It  certainly  was   "  not  strictly  his  business  " 

155 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


to  walk  into  the  room  of  a  nodding  acquaintance 
and  call  him  a  fool  in  long  sentences.  Lawrence 
knew  that.  And  it  would  have  been  even  worse 
taste  to  open  up  his  own  bosom  and  drag  out 
his  own  private  worries  and  dangle  them  before 
the  eyes  of  another.  It  is  only  in  certain  short 
stories  that  such  absurdities  are  performed  by 
reserved  young  men.  Lawrence  was  not  that 
kind  of  a  fool. 

The  Sunday  morning  conversation  ran  some 
thing  like  this,  while  Lawrence  tied  and  untied 
the  freshman's  four-in-hand  neck-tie  about  the 
foot-post  of  the  bed  : 

"  The  Fifty-seventh  Street  Harrisons  ?  Yes, 
very  well.  Were  they  down  there? 
Is  that  so?— to  Clint  Van  Brunt?  But  I  don't 
like  her  so  well  as  her  sister.  Grace  is  a 
smooth  dancer  though.  ...  At  Sherry's  last 
winter.  .  .  ."  And  similar  nonsense  until 
the  conversation  swung  round  to  the  prospects 
of  the  baseball  team,  which  had  recently  begun 
practice  in  the  cage.  Then  they  both  woke  up 
and  said  something. 

And  throughout  it  all  the  freshman  was  won 
dering  why  the  mighty  senior  honored  him  with  a 
visit,  and  longing  for  a  drink  of  very  cold  water. 

Lawrence  told  himself  that  this  call  was  mere 
ly  to  break  the  ice.  You  couldn't  expect  him 

156 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


to  talk  about  such  serious  things  when  they 
were  hardly  acquainted.  Could  you  ? 

He  went  again  within  a  few  days.  He 
thought  he  ought  to  strike  while  the  iron  was 
hot.  It  was  in  the  evening  this  time,  and  the 
freshman  was  brighter  and  better  looking.  Law 
rence  liked  him  more  than  ever,  only  he  wished 
that  he  would  not  be  quite  so  deferential  toward 
him.  Also  he  greatly  wished  that  he  would 
not  consider  it  necessary  to  tack  those  super 
fluous  words  to  his  remarks.  It  bothered  him. 
They  seemed  to  come  out  of  the  refined  mouth 
sidewise.  Sometimes  they  stuck,  as  it  were, 
and  hung  there  while  Lawrence  shivered.  And 
the  more  obvious  Lawrence  made  it  that  he  did 
not  consider  such  emphasis  essential  to  his  own 
observations,  the  more  frequently  did  Darnell 
drag  it  in.  This  was  to  show  the  senior  that 
he  need  not  refrain  on  his  account. 

This  time  Lawrence  remained  until  midnight. 
They  did  not  once  mention  the  people  they  both 
knew  in  town.  They  talked  about  tramping  in 
the  Harz  Mountains. 

It  was  evident  on  his  third  visit  that  the 
freshman  considered  Lawrence's  frequent  com 
ing  due  to  approval  of  his  development.  He 
stuck  it  on  worse  than  ever.  Lawrence  was 
discouraged  and  looked  it. 

157 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


The  freshman,  wondering  why  his  senior 
friend  was  so  silent,  suddenly  lifted  his  big 
brown  eyes.  Lawrence  was  gazing  mournfully 
at  him.  Naturally  this  made  him  feel  queer. 
He  became  rattled  and  blushed.  Lawrence  be 
came  rattled  and  nearly  did  ;  and  then  arose, 
left  abruptly,  and  kicked  himself  all  the  way  up 
Nassau  Street,  and  all  along  the  stone  walk  past 
the  dean's  house,  by  Old  North,  in  front  of  Ke- 
union,  and  into  West,  where  he  sneaked  up  to 
bed.  He  did  not  call  again  for  a  month. 

Meanwhile  the  freshman  was  doubtless  run 
ning  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him,  with 
Thompson  and  others  of  that  ilk,  to  the  devil. 
And  H.  L.  Lawrence,  Ninety  Blank,  who  by 
wicked  example  had  started  him  going,  was  do 
ing  nothing  to  stop  him.  Which  was  the  very 
best  thing  he  could  have  done. 

For  this  is  a  sort  of  a  disease,  and  if  it's  there 
it's  bound  to  manifest  itself,  like  other  things 
that  break  out  at  about  this  age.  Any  fatherly, 
well-meaning  interference,  such  as  a  fellow  like 
Lawrence  might  offer,  would  have  had  directly 
the  opposite  of  the  desired  effect.  If  you  do 
not  believe  this,  it  clearly  indicates  that  you  do 
not  understand  it. 

Lawrence  did  not.  He,  poor  devil,  skulked 
off  and  tried  to  forget  about  the  freshman,  like 

158 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


a  rejected  lover,  and,  again  like  one,  he  could 
not,  even  though  he  went  across  the  street  to 
avoid  meeting  those  big  eyes. 

Once  more  he  took  a  long  breath  and  sneaked 
off  to  the  freshman's  room  with  a  brave  lot  of 
kind,  smiling  advice  which  he  practised  saying 
on  the  way  over.  In  a  moment  he  came  run 
ning  back  to  the  campus,  shouting  for  joy.  The 
freshman  was  not  at  home. 

He  yelled  "Yea"  with  all  his  might  and 
danced  three  times  about  the  cannon,  all  alone, 
like  a  man  back  on  the  campus  in  midsummer. 
Then  because  it  was  Princeton  someone  else 
yelled  "  Yea-a !  "  from  over  by  Clio  Hall.  Then 
Jack  Stehman  raised  his  window  and  yelled 
"  Cork  up !  "  because  he  felt  like  it.  Someone 
in  East  yeaed  back  in  a  shrill  voice.  Tommy 
Tucker  stepped  out  upon  his  balcony  in  Reun 
ion  and  echoed  it  mightily.  Someone  blew  a 
horn,  a  big  Thanksgiving  game  horn.  Others 
took  it  up.  Windows  were  thrown  open  all 
over  the  campus.  Many  voices  sounded  the  an 
cient  cry  of  "  Fresh  fire  !  Heads  out ! "  Shot 
guns  banged.  Fire-crackers  exploded.  Bugles 
sounded.  Distant  Dod  took  up  the  echo.  With- 
erspoon  Hall  was  already  doing  its  part. 

Within  two  minutes  Lawrence  was  joined  by 
a  score  of  fellows  who  danced  with  him  about  the 

159 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


cannon,  yelled  "  Fresh  fier-r-r !  Heads  out !  " 
until  they  had  brought  everyone  out  they  could, 
then  called  "  Leg  pull.  All  over  !  "  and  ran 
back  to  their  rooms  again,  feeling  that  they  had 
done  their  duty.  Windows  slammed  shut  again. 
A  voice  from  down  in  Edwards  Hall  answered 
"  All  over  !  "  Every  one  went  on  where  he  left 
off.  All  felt  refreshed  and  strengthened  for  their 
duties,  and  Lawrence  leaned  alone  against  the 
cannon.  But  he  too  felt  better. 

He  decided  that  this  was  a  species  of  Provi 
dential  interposition,  a  sort  of  vision  as  it  were, 
the  interpretation  of  which  was  that  any  man 
who  would  allow  a  little  fool  freshman  to  destroy 
the  happiness  of  the  culminating  year  of  the 
best  period  of  life  in  the  dearest  spot  on  earth 
would  be  an  unmitigated  ass. 

He  now  fell  to  distracting  his  mind  with  work 
and  other  things,  and  realized  the  beauty  of  ex 
istence,  as  all  undergraduates  should.  Besides 
the  beauty  of  existence  there  were  others  that  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  dwelling  upon  during  sunset 
rambles  through  the  woods  down  toward  the 
canal ;  pretty  little  foolish  thoughts  which  young 
men  who  are  still  students  and  have  yet  to 
choose  an  occupation  have  no  business  in  think 
ing.  But  the  way  her  hair  swept  back  from  that 
brow  of  hers  on  either  side  of  the  chaste  part 

160 


Fixing  that  Fresbman 


and  then  swirled —    But  that  will  do.    Lawrence 
and  his  affairs  already  occupy  too  much  space. 

And  as  suddenly  as  they  were  interrupted  in 
that  paragraph  were  his  walking-time  thoughts 
cut  short  whenever  that  confounded  freshman 
loomed  up  with  an  arm  about  the  Thompson 
boy,  followed  by  a  brindle  bull-dog  and  a  trail  of 
cigarette-smoke. 


161 


GUSSIE  THOMPSON  was  an  angel-faced 
child  with  pretty  ringlety  hair,  and  he  had 
come  to  college  from  a  strict  boarding-school 
Avith  the  intention  of  making  a  bad  man  of  him 
self.  And  when  a  boy  wants  badly  to  go  to  the 
devil  there  is  no  reason  why  he  should  find  it 
very  difficult.  In  this  thought  I  find  I  have  been 
anticipated  by  Virgil. 

But  though  the  descent  is  easy  it  does  not 
follow  that  it  is  always  graceful.  Thompson, 
who  was  conscientiously  trying  to  do  it  proper 
ly,  had  his  discouragements  and  sour  balls  just 
as  often  as  the  poler  who  sat  in  the  next  seat 
and  wore  trousers  that  were  too  short. 

People  persistently  considered  Gussie  dis 
gustingly  good,  when  in  reality  he  was  very  bad 
and  smoked  big  black  cigars  with  red  and  gilt 
bands  about  them.  And  indeed  it  is  discourag 
ing  to  walk  down  to  the  football  practice  with 
the  gang,  breathing  cigarette  -  smoke  at  every 
fifth  step,  and  then  have  some  class-mate  you 
have  nothing  to  do  with  ask  you,  before  all  the 

162 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


fellows,  to  lead  class  prayer-meeting  the  next 
Sunday.  But  all  that  was  over  long  ago. 

He  now  wore  the  dark  bad  expression  without 
any  conscious  effort.  No  one  asked  him  where 
the  Greek  lesson  was  any  more.  He  seldom 
had  to  blow  his  breath  in  fellows'  faces.  And  at 
the  club  he  was  no  longer  obliged  to  blink  and 
say,  "  How  do  I  look  this  morning  ?  "  they  asked 
of  their  own  accord,  "  Full  last  night,  Gus  ?  " 
just  as  some  people  say  "  Good-morning." 

One  evening,  at  about  the  beginning  of  the 
season  known  to  some  as  "  bock  beer  time,"  he 
was  in  his  room  surrounded  with  a  few  of  his 
own  sort,  and  a  knock  came  at  the  door.  But 
it  wras  not  a  very  loud  one,  so  he  did  not  take 
the  trouble  to  answer  until  there  came  a  second 
knock,  an  emphatic  one.  Then  he  emptied  a 
lungful  of  cigarette-smoke  and  shouted,  "  Come 
in  and  shut  your  damn  racket."  He  looked  up. 

Lawrence  wras  framed  in  the  door-way,  Law 
rence  the  senior,  with  his  'varsity  sweater  and 
his  impressive  air. 

On  the  campus  Lawrence  generally  nodded  to 
Thompson,  when  he  remembered  him.  Once, 
not  long  ago,  he  had  walked  up  the  rear  stairs  of 
Dickinson  with  him  and  said,  "  What  do  you 
fellows  have  at  this  hour  ?  "  and  Gussie  won 
dered  when  the  clubs  held  their  first  elections. 

163 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


With  his  words  of  apology  and  welcome 
Thompson  felt  a  wave  of  satisfaction  at  having  a 
gang  about  the  table  with  cards  and  beer-mugs 
on  it.  He  was  glad  he  had  strung  the  cham 
pagne-corks  over  the  mantel-piece. 

All  of  the  gang  had  arisen,  and  yet  this  was  a 
Princeton  room.  If  the  senior  observed  the  un 
usual  mark  he  showed  little  gratitude,  for  with 
out  seeming  to  be  aware  of  their  presence  he 
said,  in  his  gruff  voice,  "  When  will  you  be  at 
leisure,  Thompson  ?  "  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

He  was  the  sort  of  senior  that  could  do  these 
things,  and  it  had  the  desired  effect.  They  all 
remembered  that  they  had  engagements  and 
picked  up  their  caps  and  said,  "  So  long,  old 
man,"  and  got  out.  This  was  not  done  con 
strainedly  but  as  a  perfectly  natural  thing.  And 
Gussie  beamed. 

The  door  slammed  and  the  freshman  said, 
"  Have  a  drink,  Lawrence." 

The  senior  said,  "  No,  I  thank  you,"  and  then 
contradicted  himself,  "  Yes,  I  will  take  a  little  of 
that."  He  did  not  approve  of  little  boys  having 
whiskey  in  their  rooms  and  big  cut-glass  decant 
ers  on  their  bookcases,  but  he  remembered 
something.  "  That's  good  whiskey,  Thompson." 
Jjawrence  sipped  and  whiffed  and  held  his  glass 
to  the  light,  "excellent  whiskey."  He  gravely 

164 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


smacked  his  lips.  "It  reminds  me  of  some 
Bourbon  they  once  gave  us  down  in  Kentucky, 
on  the  Glee  Club  trip — in  Louisville,  I  think  it 
was.  They  called  it  Pendennis  Club." 

Thompson  pushed  a  cigarette  -  case  across 
the  table.  "That's  Pendennis  Club,"  he  re 
plied,  simply.  "  A  friend  of  mine  down  there 
sends  it  to  me.  I  find  you  can't  get  good 
liquor  in  our  part  of  the  country.  It's  all  rot- 
gut."  He  twisted  his  pretty  brows  into  a  scowl 
and  emptied  his  small  lungs  of  smoke  aimed  at 
the  ceiling. 

"I  see,"  said  Lawrence,  looking  interested. 

"You  know  what  they  say  about  Kentucky," 
the  freshman  proceeded,  "  for  good  whiskey, 
fast  horses,  and  pretty  women." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lawrence. 

The  freshman  refilled  his  guest's  glass  with 
Pendennis  Club  and  his  own  lungs  with  ciga 
rette-smoke,  which  he  allowed  to  seek  the  free 
air  of  the  room  slowly,  with  his  head  tipped 
back  and  a  mouth  twisted  scornfully  as  he  had 
once  seen  another  devil  of  a  fellow  do  it,  who 
said,  "  I  don't  give  a  damn  for  the  girl."  All 
of  which  was  lost  on  Lawrence,  who  was  rubbing 
his  chin  and  looking  in  the  other  direction  and 
wishing  he  had  not  come. 

"  By  the  way,  Thompson,  speaking  of  horses, 

165 


Fixing  tbat  Freshman 


how  did  you  come  out  playing  the  races  last 
fall  ?  I  often  saw  YOU  on  the  train  going  up — " 
this  was  a  lie — 4;  when  I  was  slaving  over  foot 
ball.  Luck  stay  by  you '?  " 

Then  the  freshman  leaned  back  and  said 
things  about  Futurity  Stakes  and  plunging  at 
Morris  Park  and  a  lucky  sixteen-to-one  shot, 
intermingled  with  a  brave  lot  of  profanity  and 
considerable  cigarette-smoke.  Lawrence  wore 
the  look  of  a  m«Ti  listening,  and  thought  up 
what  to  say  next. 

4i  By  the  way.  Thompson."  only  it  was  not  by 
the  way  to  anything  but  his  own  thoughts, 
"where's  your  friend  Darnell?  I  didn't  see 
him  with  the  others  in  here." 

"No,"  said  the  devil  of  a  fellow,  "  he  won't 
own  up  to  it,  but  he's  a  good  bit  of  a  poler  at 
heart.  Lawrence." 

"  I  did  not  think  it  of  him/'  said  Lawrence, 
sincerely.  "He's  a  blame  nice  fellow  though, 
isn't  he?" 

'•  Right.  He's  the  best  friend  I  have.  He's 
pretty  young  and  has  a  lot  of  things  to  learn, 
but  he's  a  mighty  nice  man.  Awfully  clever  chap, 
too.  Wish  I  had  his  brains.  I  believe  he  comes 
from  very  nice  people  in  New  York,  doesn't  he  ?  ** 

a  Yes.  Thompson,  you  are  dead  right  in  say 
ing  he's  too  young." 


Fixing  tbat  Freshman 


A  beam  of  pleasure  shot  across  his  young 
host's  face,  which  was  seen  by  Lawrence,  who 
now  felt  all  right,  and  began  to  talk. 

"  He's  entirely  too  young,  Thompson,  and 
the  deuce  of  it  is  that  he  doesn't  realize  how 
very  young  he  is.  A  fellow  like  that  never 
does.  You  know  what  I  mean.  And  as  far  as 
I  can  see — I  think  you  had  the  same  thing  in 
mind  a  moment  ago — he  is  about  to  make  a 
fool  of  himself  unless  he  is  very  careful  He's 
entirely  too  nice  a  fellow,  Thompson,  for  any 
thing  like  that  to  happen."  Lawrence  leaned 
back  and  put  his  feet  on  the  table. 

"  You  see,"  he  continued,  "  Darnell  tries  to  do 
things  that  you  fellows  do,  who  are  more  mature, 
and  he  doesn't  seem  to  realize  that  he  is  only 
a  boy.  Now  with  you  and  me  it  is  different. 
We  are  older  and  know  things  and  have  been 
around  a  bit  and —  You  know  what  I  mean. 
We  can  do  a  lot  of  things  and  have  a  good  time 
and  be  none  the  worse  for  it,  but  as  for  Darnell, 
why,  he's  a  kid,  Thompson,  a  mere  kid." 

Thompson  breathed  cigarettes  and  looked 
judicial. 

Lawrence  moved  his  chair  around  so  that  he 
could  lean  an  elbow  on  the  table.  He  looked 
at  the  fire  through  the  glass  of  liquid  in  his 
hand.  "  Thompson,  I'm  in  a  hole.  A  bad 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


hole,  too.  I'm  going  to  tell  you  about  it  and 
maybe  ask  your  advice.  I  don't  mind  telling 
you  because  I  know  you  can  keep  your  mouth 
shut.  I  came  here  this  evening  for  that  very 
purpose. 

"  You  know  I  know  Darnell's  people  and  all 
that.  Well,  I  know  his  sister  quite  well." 
That  happened  to  be  a  lie.  "And  last  com 
mencement  when  she  was  down  here  she  asked 
me  to  look  after  her  brother  when  he  entered  in 
the  fall."  That  happened  to  be  true,  though 
Lawrence  had  forgotten  it.  "  She's  a  pretty 
good  friend  of  mine,  and  whenever  I  see  her  " — 
he  could  not  have  distinguished  her  from  the 
other  little  girls  in  the  school  up-town — "  she 
always  asks  me  about  her  brother.  And,  well, 
Thompson,  a  fellow  hates  to  lie  to  a  respectable 
woman,  you  know." 

"  Only  a  cad  will  lie  to  a  decent  girl,"  said  the 
other,  sympathetically. 

"  Certainly.  Now,  Thompson,  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  think  I'll  do.  I  am  going  to  very  frankly 
ask  you  to  help -me  out  of  this  hole."  Lawrence 
looked  closely  at  the  freshman.  Then  he  went 
on,  talking  rapidly  now  with  his  eyebrows  tucked 
down  and  the  words  coming  between  his  teeth. 
Thompson  had  seen  him  do  it  before  and  had 
practised  it  in  his  room  alone. 

168 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


"You  can  do  it  or  not,  just  as  you  please,  but 
you  are  the  only  one  whom  I'd  care  to  ask  to 
do  it.  You  are  the  only  one  I'd  trust  with  it. 
In  fact,  you  are  the  only  one  that  could  do  it. 
Thompson,  you  know  yourself  that  you  have 
more  influence  over  Darnell  than  any  man  in 
the  class." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  the  freshman  feebly 
protested. 

"  Well  I  do.  He  has  as  much  as  told  me  so. 
I  am  going  to  ask  you  very  frankly  to —  I  don't 
know  what  your  views  are,"  the  senior  inter 
rupted  himself,  "  but  I  believe  in  having  all  the 
fun  in  the  world  I  can  for  myself  as  long  as  I 
mind  my  own  business.  But  I'd  just  as  soon, 
when  I  have  the  chance — "  Lawrence  looked 
down  at  the  whiskey  which  he  was  gently  swish 
ing  around  in  his  glass.  He  made  his  voice 
sound  as  if  embarrassed.  "  Well,  dammit,  I'm 
no  saint,  but  you  know  it  says  somewhere  that 
saving  one  soul  will  wipe  out  a  multitude  of  sins 
or  something  of  that  sort." 

"  God  knows  we  have  enough  of  them,"  said 
the  devil  of  a  fellow,  who  now  hurled  the  butt  of 
his  cigarette  at  the  fire  and  arose  from  his  seat. 
He  threw  back  his  head  and  spoke. 

"  Lawrence,  you  needn't  say  any  more.  I  can 
give  you  my  answer  now."  He  plunged  his 

169 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


hands  in  his  pockets  and  began  striding  up  and 
down  the  room  and  scowled  as  he  strode. 

"  Lawrence,  I  am  a  peculiar  man,  and  I  think 
my  own  thoughts  and  lead  my  own  life  accord 
ing  to  my  own  ideas.  I  keep  this  room  here 
open  to  everyone  who  desires  to  enter.  My 
whiskey  and  tobacco  is  anybody's  who  wants  it. 
And  as  long  as  my  guests  mind  their  own  busi 
ness  my  room  is  theirs.  But  when  certain 
members  of  my  class,  certain  milksops  and 
sanctimonious  Gospel  sharks  come  up  here  and 
tell  me  that  I  am  doing  wrong  and  tell  me  what 
it  is  my  duty  to  do,  I  very  frankly  tell  them  to 
go  to  hell."  He  looked  around  the  walls  at  the 
Saronys  and  a  French  print  or  two  as  if  to  call 
them  to  witness,  then  went  on  : 

"Lawrence,  I  perceived  your  drift  from  the 
start,  and  at  first,  I  must  confess,  I  was  some 
what  taken  aback,  Lawrence,  by  your  approach 
ing  me  on  such  a  subject." 

The  one  listening  with  a  bland  look  of  at 
tention  on  his  face  and  his  feet  on  the  table 
considered  this  rather  fresh,  but  said  noth 
ing. 

"  But  only  for  a  moment,"  the  freshman  con 
tinued,  "  only  for  a  moment,  I  assure  you.  You 
talked  to  me  like  a  man  to  a  man,  a  real  man, 
not  a  Gospel  shark  or  a  poler,  but  a  man  who 

170 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


knows  things  and  yet  gives  a  fellow  credit  for 
some  good  impulses.  I  appreciate  your  situa 
tion  exactly.  I  have  been  placed  in  similar  ones 
myself.  I  know  how  it  is.  And  I'm  glad  you 
came  up  here  to-night.  You  rushed  in  where 
angels  would  not  have  dared,  and  I'm  damn 
glad  you  did."  He  stopped  walking  the  floor. 
"  Now  I'm  not  accustomed  to  this  sort  of  thing, 
Lawrence,  as  you  must  know,  and  I  won't  prom 
ise  much.  But  I  give  you  my  word,  I'll  do  my 
best  for  Darnell." 

Lawrence  took  the  hand  Thompson  dramati 
cally  held  out  to  him.  He  restrained  another 
impulse,  an  ungrateful  one,  and  said,  "  Thomp 
son,  I  always  thought  I  understood  you  better 
than  your  own  class-mates  did."  And  Gussie 
blushed. 

The  senior  arose.  "  Gus," — he  called  him 
Gus — "  I  appreciate  to  a  nicety  the  delicacy  of 
your  position  in  this  matter.  Please  don't  let 
it  inconvenience  you  in  any  way.  I  shall  al 
ways  "be  grateful  to  you  for  what  you  have  un 
dertaken  this  evening,  and  if  I  can  ever  be  of 
service  to  you,  please  command  me."  Some  of 
this  was  sincere.  "  I  have  an  engagement  now. 
Good-night.  No,  I  thank  you,  no  more  to 
night..  Come  up  and  see  me  some  time,  Gus. 
Good-night." 

171, 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


"  Good-night,  Harry  "  said  the  other.  "  Wish 
you  would  drop  up  often." 

"  I  know  that,"  thought  Lawrence,  as  he  closed 
the  door,  "  only  I  wouldn't  say  '  Harry '  very 
often  if  I  were  you." 

Left  alone,  the  Thompson  took  a  gulp  of 
whiskey  straight  without  wincing  very  much, 
stretched  out  in  a  big  chair  and  planned  how  to 
follow  his  friend  Lawrence's  suggestions,  wrink 
ling  his  brows  and  looking  no  doubt  very  much 
like  the  man  of  the  world  that  he  read  about  as 
he  did  so. 

Meanwhile  Lawrence  was  saying  to  himself, 
"Still,  it's  all  in  a  good  cause,"  and  hurrying 
along  the  street  with  his  coat-collar  turned  up, 
like  a  man  ashamed  of  himself. 

"  This  time  next  year,"  he  was  thinking,  "  I'll 
be  out  of  college  and  hustling  in  the  big  world 
which  recent  graduates  are  always  telling  me  I 
know  nothing  about.  I  suppose  I  shall  have 
to  get  used  to  boot  -  licking  and  getting  pulls. 
That's  business.  But  just  at  present  I  don't 
like  the  taste."  So  he  hurried  up  the  street  for 
a  counter-irritant,  while  the  mood  was  on  him. 

A  few  moments  later  he  was  saying,  "  The 
fact  of  the  matter  is,  Darnell,  I'm  in  a  pretty  bad 
hole,  and  I  think  I'll  ask  your  advice." 

"  My  advice  ?  "  said  Darnell. 

173 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


"  Yes,  if  you  do  not  object  to  giving  it." 

"  I  think  you  know  what  I  mean,"  said  the 
freshman,  "  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lawrence,  "  I  know  what  you 
mean."  He  also  knew  he  was  finding  it  a  dif 
ferent  matter  talking  to  this  freshman. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  about  it  anyway,"  he  went 
on.  "  Last  year,  when  your  friend  Gus  Thomp 
son's  sister  was  down  here  for  the  sophomore 
reception — what  ?  "  The  freshman's  big  eyes 
were  making  him  nearly  blush. 

"  Why,  Gus  is  an  only  child,  you  know.  You 
must  mean  his  cousin." 

"  Did  I  say  sister?  I  meant  cousin.  His 
cousin,  of  course — she's  a  smooth  girl,  his  cousin. 
Well,  his  cousin  got  at  me  and  asked  me  to 
look  after  him  when  he  entered  college  and  see 
that  he  poled  and  all  that.  Sort  of  queer  thing, 
wasn't  it  ?  But  I  promised  to  do  it,  and  you 
know  you  hate  to  lie  to  a — well,  I  hate  to  de 
ceive  her  about  it." 

Then  Lawrence  went  on  to  point  out  that 
while  he,  Darnell,  had  plenty  of  fun  in  life,  he 
kept  up  in  first  division  at  the  same  time,  which 
was  the  way  to  do,  whereas  that  boy  Thompson, 
who  seemed  rather  immature,  had  two  condi 
tions  and  was  in  a  good  way  to  being  dropped  ; 
and  he,  Darnell,  had  considerable  influence 
ira 


Fixing  tbat  Freshman 


over  Thompson — oh,  yes,  he  had  :  Gus  had  only 
that  evening  referred  to  Darnell  as  his  best 
friend,  and  so  on.  But  Lawrence  forgot  to  say 
damn  this  time. 

When  he  finished,  the  freshman  turned  toward 
the  senior  two  fine-looking  eyes  filled  with  sur 
prise  and  some  other  things  which  caused  Law 
rence  to  feel  like  a  hypocrite,  which  he  was. 

"  Why,"  replied  Darnell,  "  of  course,  Law 
rence.  To  be  sure  I  don't  know  how  well  I  can 
succeed,  but  I'll  be  very  glad  to  try  it.  And, 
Lawrence,  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  ap 
preciate  your  trusting  me  in  a  thing  of  this  nat 
ure,  only " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Lawrence,  arising. 

"  Only,  Lawrence,"  continued  the  freshman, 
who  seemed  to  have  something  to  say,  "why 
didn't  you  tell  me  this  was  what  you  wanted 
long  ago  ?  I  would  have  been  willing,  I  think, 
without  your  cultivating  my  acquaintance  so 
long." 

"  See  here,"  said  Lawrence,  with  his  hand  on 
the  door-knob,  "to  be  right  honest,  I  never 
dreamed  of  asking  you  to  do  anything  of  the 
sort  until  this  very  day.  If  I  cultivated  you  it 
was  for  yourself  and  because  I  like  you.  I 
never  told  anyone  that  before.  Good-night." 

On    his    way  across  the  campus  Lawrence 

174 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


stopped  and  told  an  innocent  old  elm-tree  this : 
"  The  man  that  first  said  '  Siinilia  similibus 
curantur '  was  very  much  of  a  fool.  I  feel  more 
like  a  fellow  cribbing  in  exams,  than  I  did  be 
fore."  Then  he  kicked  the  elm  and  shouted 
"  Hello-o,  Billy  Nolan,  are  you  up  there  ?  "  and 
ran  up  the  stairs  to  smoke  a  goocl-night  pipe 
and  talk  about  senior  vacation.  He  felt  better 
in  the  morning. 

It  was  one  evening  about  a  week  after  this 
that  young  Thompson  came  running  up  to  Law 
rence's  room  with  a  scowl  on  his  face,  and  talked 
like  an  important  man  in  a  hurry. 

"  Why,  he's  dead  easy  !  I'll  say,  '  Aw,  let's 
get  out  of  here,  this  beer  is  rotten.'  '  All  right,' 
he'll  say,  '  let's  wander  over  to  the  room.'  Min 
ute  we  get  there  he  proposes  that  we  pole  the 
Greek  or  something.  See  his  idea?  He  thinks 
he'll  sour  me  on  being  quiet,  but,  ha,  ha !  I  fool 
him  every  time — how?  Why  I  just  sit  down 
and  pole  to  beat  the  band  until  too  late  for  him 
to  join  the  gang.  See  ?  Oh,  but  he's  easy  !  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  to  keep  that  boy  from 
making  a  fool  of  himself,  and  when  I  make  up 
my  mind  to  a  thing,  I  don't  believe  in  crawling. 
Besides,  poling  won't  hurt  me  any." 

"Oh,  no,  Thompson,"  said  Lawrence  sympa 
thetically.  "I  don't  see  how  it  can  hurt  you." 

175 


Fixing  that  Freshman 


Darnell  came  in  a  little  later  and  sat  down  in 
the  very  same  chair  and  had  this  to  say :  "  Law 
rence,  Gus  Thompson  is  a  queer  fellow.  You 
know  he  doesn't  go  with  the  crowd  any  more, 
and  because  lie  is  sour  and  doesn't  care  to  have 
any  good  times,  he  tries  to  interfere  with  my 
enjoyment  too.  He's  always  proposing  that  we 
stay  in  the  rooms — you  know  we  room  together 
now.  I  thought  I  could  look  after  him  better 
in  that  way —  Well,  when  he  kicks  on  poling 
I  start  to  join  the  gang,  and  then  he  says  'All 
right,  let's  pole.'  He  must  be  jealous  about  me. 
But  that's  the  way  I  work  him.  He's  so  easy." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lawrence,  "  lots  of  people  are." 


176 


THE  SCRUB  QUARTER-BACK 


THE   SCRUB  QUARTER-BACK 

rMMY  WOKMSEY  was  a  meek  little  boy 
with  an  ugly  face,  mostly   covered  with 
court-plaster,  and  he  would  rather  fall  on  a  foot 
ball  than  eat. 

When  he  came  trotting  out  upon  the  field,  the 
college  along  the  side  lines  always  smiled  at  the 
way  he  tipped  his  head  to  one  side  with  his 
eyes  on  the  ground,  as  though  he  was  ashamed 
of  himself  and  of  his  funny  little  bumpy  body, 
stuck  into  a  torn  suit  and  stockings  which 
weren't  mates  and  had  holes  in  them.  When  he 
skimmed  over  the  ground  and  dived  through  the 
air  and  brought  down  a  two-hundred- and-some- 
thing-pound  guard,  with  his  knotty  little  arms 
barely  reaching  about  the  big  thighs,  it  looked 
very  absurd,  and  when  he  jumped  up  again, 
yelling  "  3 — 9 — 64  "  in  his  shrill  earnest  voice, 
and  ran  sniffling  back  to  his  place,  with  his  sor 
rowful  face  seeming  to  say,  "  I  know  I  oughtn't 
to  have  let  him  slide  so  far,  but  please  don't 
scold  me  this  time,"  the  crowd  laughed  uproar 
iously,  which  hurt  his  feelings. 

179 


The  Scrub  Quarter-Back 


But  he  paid  very  little  attention  to  anything 
except  the  scrub  captain's  orders  and  the  ad 
monitions  of  the  coachers,  to  whom  he  said, 
"  Yes,  sir,"  and  "  I'll  try  it  that  way,  sir."  He  was 
afraid  of  them,  and  looked  down  at  his  torn 
stockings  when  they  spoke  to  him.  Those  of  the 
crowd  along  the  ropes  who  knew  everything,  as 
well  as  the  other  spectators  who  only  knew  a 
few  things,  said  that  Freshman  Wormsey  had 
more  sand  and  football  instinct  than  any  man 
on  the  field.  But  they  did  not  know  what  a 
coward  he  was  at  heart. 

More  than  once  when  a  'varsity  guard  had 
broken  through  and  jumped  on  him,  and  the 
scrub  halves  had  fallen  on  him  from  the  other 
direction  to  keep  him  from  being  shoved  back, 
and  the  other  'varsity  guard  and  the  centre,  who 
were  not  light,  had  thrown  themselves  upon 
these,  and  one  of  the  ends  had  swung  round  and 
jumped  on  the  top  of  the  pile  on  general  prin 
ciples,  Wormsey,  at  the  bottom,  said  "  ouch  !  " 
under  his  breath,  if  he  had  any.  He  weighed 
137  pounds  stripped. 

At  night,  after  the  trick  practice  with  check 
ers  at  the  Athletic  Club,  he  always  hurried 
back  to  his  room,  and  stacked  the  pillows  and 
sofa  cushions  up  in  the  corner  of  the  room, 
with  the  black  one  in  the  centre,  and  taking  his 

180 


Scrub  Quarter-Back 


place  on  one  knee  in  the  opposite  corner,  socked 
the  ball  into  the  pile.  Every  time  he  missed 
the  black  one  in  the  centre  he  called  himself 
names. 

Sometimes  when  he  did  this  he  became  ex 
cited,  and  sprang  forward  and  knocked  down 
chairs  and  tables  and  things.  But  he  paid  no 
attention  to  that.  He  only  bit  his  nails  and 
fell  to  passing  again,  and  kept  it  up  sometimes 
until  eleven  o'clock,  which  was  a  whole  hour 
later  than  he  had  any  business  to  be  out  of  bed. 

But  there  were  days  when  it  became  tiresome, 
this  constant  pound,  pound,  pound,  fall  down, 
get  up  and  pound  again,  and  once  in  a  while 
there  came  dark  times  when  he  felt  that  it  all 
didn't  pay,  which  was  very  unpatriotic  thinking ; 
and  the  next  day,  when  the  crowd  yelled,  "  Well 
tackled,  Wormsey !  "  he  wondered  how  he  could 
have  been  such  a  mucker  as  to  think  it.  But  it 
was  rather  hard  work  for  a  seventeen-year-old 
boy  whose  bones  weren't  knit  to  play  two  thirty- 
minute  halves  every  day  as  hard  as  they  were 
doing  now,  and  then  practise  place  kicks  and 
catching  punts  afterward,  besides  keeping  hold 
of  all  the  signals  and  systems  and  stuff  that  were 
drummed  into  his  little  head  every  evening, 
along  with  the  rest  of  the  second  eleven,  in  the 
room  across  the  hall  from  the  one  where  the 

181 


The  Scrub  Quarter-Back 


Varsity  were  learning  their  systems  and  signals 
and  tricks. 

It's  all  well  enough  for  them.  They  have 
their  'varsity  sweaters  with  the  big  P  on 
them,  and  have  their  pictures  printed  in  the 
papers,  and  are  pointed  out  and  praised  and 
petted  and  fondled  and  fussed  over  like  blue- 
ribboned  hunters  at  the  horse  show  ;  but  for  the 
poor,  faithful,  unappreciated  scrub  it's  a  different 
story.  There's  none  of  the  glory,  and  all  work 
and  grind  and  strain  at  the  top  notch  of  capac 
ity.  And  nothing  at  the  end  of  it  but  thanks 
and  the  consciousness  of  doing  one's  duty  by  the 
college.  So  about  this  time,  when  they  were 
approaching  that  critical  stage  in  training  which 
is  like  getting  one's  second  wind  in  a  cross 
country  run,  he  used  to  have  some  terrible  times 
with  himself.  If  anyone  knew  what  mucker- 
ishly  cowardly  thoughts  he  had,  he  was  afraid 
they'd  fire  him  from  college. 

He  was  ashamed  of  himself,  but  he  couldn't 
help  it.  He  was  getting  sick  of  training,  sick  of 
getting  up  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  and 
hurrying  down  to  breakfast  while  the  alarm 
clocks  were  going  off  in  East  and  West  colleges, 
and  the  frost  was  still  on  the  grass.  Every  day, 
as  soon  as  the  morning  recitations  were  over,  no 
matter  what  kind  of  weather,  he  must  jump  into 

182 


The  Scrub  Quarter-Back 


the  'bus  at  the  corner  of  Dickinson  Hall,  drive 
down  to  the  grounds,  undress  and  dress  again, 
and  hobble  out  upon  the  field,  and  get  his  poor 
little  body  bumped  and  pounded  and  kicked  and 
trampled  on,  and  the  rest  of  his  personality 
yelled  at  by  the  captain,  and  scolded  by  the 
coachers,  who  stand  alongside  in  nicely  creased 
trousers,  with  canes  in  their  hands,  and  call  out, 
"Line  up  more  quickly,  scrub,"  which  is  hard  to 
do  when  one's  lungs  are  breathless,  especially 
when  one  is  a  quarter-back,  and  needs  a  certain 
amount  of  wind  to  scream  out  the  signals  in  a 
loud  enough  tone  to  keep  from  being  sworn 
at.  And  that's  the  way  they  make  football  stuff. 
To-day  he  let  Hartshorn  drag  him  five  yards 
and  missed  one  tackle  outright,  and  he  was  dis 
couraged.  After  the  line-up,  while  they  were 
practising  him  at  catching  punts,  he  seemed  to 
have  such  bad  luck  holding  the  ball ;  and  once, 
in  trying  for  a  wild  one  when  he  had  run  over 
by  the  cinder  track,  grunting  and  straining,  and 
had  put  up  his  little  arms,  only  to  feel  the  ball 
bounce  off  his  chest,  he  gnashed  his  teeth  so 
loud  and  said  "  Oh,  dear !  "  in  such  a  plaintive 
whimper,  like  a  child  waking  from  a  bad  dream, 
that  two  pipe-smoking  seniors,  who  were  troop 
ing  out  in  the  rear  of  the  crowd,  smiled  audibly 
and  said  something  about  him.  He  could  not 

183 


The  Scrub  Quarter-Back 


hear  what  it  was.  He  only  heard  them  laugh, 
and  it  nearly  broke  his  heart.  But  all  that  he 
could  do  was  to  call  them  things  under  his  breath, 
and  run  sniffling  back  to  his  place  again. 

The  trouble  with  the  boy  was  he  had  worked 
so  hard  and  worried  so  much  that  he  was  over 
trained,  and  so,  naturally,  there  was  not  much 
ginger  left  in  him.  And  the  reason  the  keen- 
eyed  trainer  did  not  see  this  and  lay  him  off  for 
a  few  days  was  that  Wormsey  thought  it  his 
duty  to  make  up  in  nerve  what  he  lacked  in  gin 
ger  ;  and  he  was  too  bashful  to  tell  anyone  how 
difficult  it  was  to  make  himself  play  hard,  and 
how  that  he  no  longer  felt  springy  when  he 
jumped  out  of  bed  in  the  morning,  and  that  he 
slept  all  the  afternoon  after  practice,  instead  of 
studying,  as  all  football  men  should. 

He  went  into  the  field-house  the  next  day,  un 
buttoning  his  coat  and  hating  football.  He 
hated  the  ill-smelling  dressing-room.  He  was 
sick  of  training,  sick  of  rare  beef  and  Bass's  ale 
and  bandages  and  rub-downs,  and  the  captain's 
admonitions  and  the  coacher's  scoldings.  He 
thought  he  would  give  anything  not  to  be  obliged 
to  play  that  day.  He  was  sore  all  over,  and  his 
ear  would  be  torn  open  again,  and  he  didn't 
like  having  the  blood  trickle  down  his  neck  ;  it 
felt  so  sticky. 

184 


The  Scrub  Qiiarter-Back 


It  was  a  hot,  lazy,  Indian-summer  day ;  and 
his  muscles  felt  exhausted.  He  felt  as  much  like 
exerting  them  as  one  feels  like  studying  in  spring 
term  directly  after  dinner,  when  the  seniors 
are  singing  on  the  steps.  As  he  came  hobbling 
out  of  the  field-house  he  laced  his  little  jacket, 
and  made  up  his  mind  that  after  the  practice  he 
would  tell  the  captain  that  he  could  not  spare 
the  time  from  his  studies  to  play  football,  pa 
triotism  or  no  patriotism.  This  was  not  neces 
sary,  because  he  was  tumbled  over  in  the  open 
ing  play,  and  remained  upon  the  ground  even 
after  the  captain  cried  "  Line  up  quickly,"  with 
his  ugly  little  face  doubled  up  in  a  knot. 

"There  goes  another  back,"  said  the  scrub 
captain,  pettishly,  snapping  his  fingers.  "  Bice, 
you  play  quarter ;  and  Richardson,  you  come 
play  half  in  Eice's  place." 

Another  sub  and  William,  the  negro  rubber, 
picked  Wormsey  up,  the  doctor  following  be 
hind,  and  turning  back  to  see  the  play,  which 
had  already  begun  again,  for  he  wanted  to  see 
how  the  new  system  was  working. 

As  they  approached  the  field-house  he  saw  the 
two  fellows  who  had  laughed  at  him  the  day  be 
fore  standing  apart  down  at  the  end  of  the  field. 
One  of  them  was  tapping  his  pipe  against  the 
heel  of  his  shoe,  and  saying,  "I  didn't  know  that 

185 


The  Scrub  Quarter-Back 


that  little  devil  could  be  hurt.  He  always — " 
But  just  then  the  'varsity  full-back  made  a  long 
"  twister"  punt,  and  he  interrupted  himself  with 
an  exclamation  about  that.  It  sounded  like  a 
reproach  to  "Wormsey,  and  he  began  to  feel  that 
he  had  somehow  gotten  hurt  with  malice  afore 
thought.  And  this  made  him  so  ashamed  that 
when  they  reached  the  field-house  the  trainer, 
sponging  his  face,  said,  encouragingly :  "  That's 
all  right,  me  boy.  Don't  feel  badly.  You'll  be 
out  again  in  a  couple  of  weeks.  I've  been  mean 
ing  to  lay  you  off  for  a  while,  anyway.  I'll  tell 
you  for  why;  you're  a  little  stale,  Tommy,  a 
little  stale." 

Every  day  now  "Wormsey  trudged  down  to  the 
field  on  crutches — they  had  to  be  sawed  off  at 
the  bottom  first — and  watched  the  practice  from 
a  pile  of  blankets  on  the  side-lines.  It  was  a 
fine  thing,  he  told  himself,  to  watch  the  others 
do  all  the  work  while  he  sat  still  with  four  'var 
sity  sweaters  tied  about  his  neck.  This  was  a 
great  snap  ;  he  was  still  on  the  scrub,  was  at  the 
training  table,  and  would  have  his  picture  taken, 
would  go  to  the  Thanksgiving  game  free,  and 
yet  did  not  have  to  get  pounded  and  pum 
melled. 

He  was  made  a  good  deal  of  now.  The 
coachers  patted  him  on  the  back  and  said  "  My 

186 


Tbe  Scrub  Quarter-Back 


boy "  to  him.  He  had  a  lot  of  sympathetic 
adulation  from  admiring  classmates.  Upper 
classmen  whom  he  had  never  seen  before,  but 
who  somehow  knew  him,  came  up  and  said, 
"  How's  the  leg,  Tommy?  "  At  which  he  hung 
his  head  and  sniffled,  and  said,  "  Getting  along 
pretty  well,  thank  you,"  and  then  grinned,  be 
cause  he  didn't  know  whether  they  were  guying 
him  or  not. 

In  a  few  days  he  could  walk  with  a  cane,  and 
he  put  on  his  football  clothes  because  they  were 
more  comfortable.  He  limped  after  the  teams 
up  and  down  the  field,  and  squatted  down  to 
see  how  the  'varsity  made  their  openings,  and 
he  learned  how  to  tell,  by  the  expression  of  his 
legs,  on  which  side  the  quarter  was  going  to 
pass  the  ball,  which  nobody  else  in  the  world 
could  tell.  Also,  by  carelessly  daily  sauntering 
into  the  cage  during  the  preliminary  practising, 
with  a  guileless  smile  on  his  face,  he  found  out 
the  'varsity  signals,  which  he  had  no  business 
to  find  out. 

Sometimes  he  became  very  much  excited  dur 
ing  the  scrimmages,  and  once,  when  Dandridge, 
the  wriggly  'varsity  half-back,  kept  on  squirm 
ing  and  gaining  after  he  had  been  twice  downed, 
TVormsey  screamed,  as  he  hopped  up  and  down 
on  one  foot,  "  Oh,  grab — grab  him !  Please 

187 


The  Scrub  Quarter-Back 


grab  him  !  Oh  !  oh  !  "  so  loud  that  all  the  field 
heard  it  and  laughed  at  him.  Then  he  realized 
what  a  fool  he  had  made  of  himself  and  kicked 
himself  with  his  good  leg,  and  limped  slowly  up 
the  field  to  study  the  next  play. 

But  conceited  as  it  was,  he  really  thought  that 
he  would  have  stopped  that  runner  if  he  had 
been  there.  He  imagined  just  how  it  would 
feel  to  have  once  more  the  thrill  of  a  clean 
tackle,  sailing  through  the  air,  and  locking  his 
arms  tight,  and  squeezing  hard,  and  both  rolling 
over  and  over,  while  the  crowd  yelled  in  the 
distance.  And  he  thought  it  would  be  fine  to 
get  out  there  again,  and  run  his  hands  through 
his  hair,  and  call  out  the  signals,  and  plunge 
the  ball  home  into  the  back's  stomach,  and  then 
pitch  forward,  and  push  and  strain  and  sweat 
and  fall  down  and  get  up  again.  He  had  a  firm 
healthy  skin  now,  and  had  gone  up  to  the  tre 
mendous  weight  of  138-J,  which  was  vulgar 
obesity. 

One  windy  sunny  day  when  Wormsey  was 
limping  friskily  up  and  down  the  field  with  his 
hair  blowing  about,  Stump,  the  'varsity  quarter, 
instead  of  springing  up  to  his  place  after  one  of 
the  tandem  plays,  as  he  should  have  done,  lay 
still  on  the  ground,  while  the  college  held  its 
breath. 

188 


The  Scrub  Quarter-Back 


11  It's  Stump  !  it's  Stump  !  "  they  whispered 
to  one  another  with  scared  faces.  Then  they 
no  longer  held  their  breaths.  They  moaned, 
and  stamped  their  heels  into  the  frosty  ground, 
and  gazed  out  sadly  toward  the  dear,  frowzy 
head  of  the  man  who  was  being  carried  to  the 
field-house. 

"  It's  only  a  wrench,"  said  the  doctor.  "  He'll 
be  out  in  a  few  days." 

The  captain's  mouth  grew  a  little  more  stern, 
but  he  only  snapped  his  fingers,  and  said: 
"  Bristol !  No,  he's  laid  off  too.  Wait  a  mo 
ment,  doctor,"  he  called  out.  "  Is  Wormsey 
well  enough  to  play  ?  " 

"Wormsey?"  said  Tommy  to  himself  in  lit 
tle  gasps.  "  Why,  I'm  Wormsey.  What !  play 
with  the  'varsity  !  " 

And  the  doctor's  voice  came  back  through  the 
wind,  "  No,  I  think  not." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am !  "  yelled  the  shrill  voice, 
which  was  heard  all  up  and  down  both  sides  of 
the  field,  and  reached  to  the  Athletic  Club  ;  and 
throwing  away  his  cane,  and  bending  over  to  let 
some  one  pull  off  two  sweaters,  Wormsey  ran 
'sniffling  out  on  the  field. 

"  See,  Jack,"  he  called  to  the  trainer.  "  I  don't 
limp  a  bit."  But  he  kept  his  face  turned  to  one 
side  so  that  the  trainer  couldn't  see  it  twitch. 

189 


The  Scrub  Quarter-Back 


"Come  here  and  I'll  give  you  the  signals, 
Wormsey,"  said  the  captain. 

"  I  know  them  already,"  said  Wormsey,  look 
ing  ashamed  of  himself ;  and  he  took  his  place 
on  one  knee  behind  the  centre  who  had  so 
often  tumbled  upon  him. 

Then  he  jumped  in  and  showed  everybody 
what  he  had  been  learning  during  the  past  ten 
days.  He  was  in  perfect  condition  now,  except 
for  the  ankle,  which  he  forgot  about.  He  was 
quite  accurate  in  his  quick  method  of  passing, 
and  he  tackled  ravenously.  Fellows  like  Worm 
sey  never  get  soft.  "Just  watch  that  boy  follow 
the  ball,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  coachers  to 
another.  "  Too  bad  he's  so  light,"  said  the 
other. 

Once  when  the  scrub  had  the  ball  they  gave 
the  signal  for  a  trick  which  they  had  been  sav 
ing  up  as  a  surprise  for  the  'varsity.  Tommy 
knew  that  signal.  He  dashed  through  the  line 
between  tackle  and  end,  he  caught  the  long  pass 
on  the  fly,  and  having  plenty  of  wind  and  a 
clear  field,  he  made  a  touch-down  unassisted, 
which  made  the  crowd  yell  and  applaud.  Of 
course  it  was  a  great  fluke,  and  Wormsey  knew 
that,  but  all  the  same,  while  the  crowd  gave  a 
cheer  for  Tommy  Wormsey,  and  a  three-times- 
three  for  "the  little  devil,"  he  grinned  for  a 

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Tbe  Scrub  Quarter-Back 


moment,  and  puckered  up  his  eyes.  But  it  is 
not  the  crowd  that  chooses  the  team. 

That  evening  at  dinner  all  the  college  was 
talking  about  the  great  tear  the  little  freshman 
had  made,  and  down  at  the  Athletic  Club  "Wbrm- 
sey  overheard  one  of  the  coachers  say :  "  When 
Stump  comes  out  again,  it'll  make  him  work  to 
see  the  freshman  putting  up  a  game  like  that. 
But  of  course  he  can't  keep  it  up.  The  pace  is 
too  fast," 

Wormsey  bit  his  nails  and  had  his  own  opinion 
about  that.  But  whatever  it  might  have  been 
was  never  learned,  because  the  next  day  he  was 
taken  off  the  field  for  the  season.  His  bad 
ankle  was  sprained  in  the  first  half,  which 
served  him  right  for  disobeying  the  doctor's 
order.  But  he  should  not  have  cared.  Didn't 
he  play  one  whole  day  on  the  'varsity  ? 


191 


WHEN  GIRLS  COME  TO  PRINCETON 


WHEN  GIRLS  COME  TO  PRINCETON 

IF  you  would  like  to  see  a  college  campus  as  it 
really  is,  with  students  walking  along  with 
the  gait  and  the  manner  and  the  clothes  they 
usually  wear,  and  to  hear  the  old  bell  ring,  the 
hall  and  dormitory  stairs  rattle,  the  entries  echo 
and  the  feet  scrape  along  the  stone  walks  as  on 
ordinary  occasions,  and  see  the  quadrangle  be 
come  crowded  and  noisy,  then  suddenly  empty 
and  quiet  again,  and  if  you  wish  to  have  a  view 
of  your  brother's  room  in  its  average  state 
of  order  and  ornamentation,  do  not  come  to 
Princeton  for  one  of  the  class  dances,  or  on  the 
day  of  a  big  game,  when  everyone  is  excited 
and  well  dressed,  and  even  the  old  elms  are  in 
an  abnormal  flutter,  but  come  down  in  a  small 
party  some  quiet  day  in  an  ordinary  week,  when 
there  are  no  extra  cars  on  the  small  informal 
train  which  jolts  up  from  the  junction.  Tell 
your  brother  that  you  are  coming,  or  his  room 
mate,  who  will  gladly  cut  a  lecture  or  two  and 
show  you  about  the  campus.  Then  you  may  see 
the  college  world  in  its  normal  state,  and  the 

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When  Girls  Come  to  Princeton 


undergraduate  iu  his  characteristic  settings— 
any  number  of  him  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth  or 
a  song,  slouching  across  the  campus  with  the 
Princeton  gait,  wearing  something  disreputable 
upon  his  head,  corduroys  and  sweaters  or  flan 
nels  and  cheviots  upon  his  body,  and  an  air  of 
ownership  combined  with  irresponsibility  all 
over.  In  short,  if  you  prefer  to  get  some  idea 
of  college  life,  and  learn,  as  far  as  a  girl  can, 
why  college  days  are  the  best  of  a  lifetime,  visit 
Princeton  on  sorn'e  day  that  is  not  a  special  oc 
casion.  But  very  likely  this  is  not  what  you 
prefer. 

Most  girls  would  rather  hurry  down  with  a 
big  trunk  in  a  crowded  special  train,  and  go  to 
four  teas,  meet  a  score  of  men  apiece  whom 
they  will  never  see  again,  dance  all  night,  and 
then,  in  a  few  minutes,  arise  looking  as  fresh 
as  they  did  on  Easter  Sunday,  and  smile  good 
byes  at  the  depot  to  the  breakfastless  young 
men  whom  they  leave  forsaken  and  sleepy 
to  try  to  go  on  where  they  left  off,  while  they 
themselves  hurry  back  to  town,  and  to  another 
dance  the  next  night. 

A  college  dance  is  generally  considered  very 
good  fun.  There  is  an  adventurous  zest  in  jour 
neying  to  a  college,  and  exploring  it,  and  meet 
ing  crowds  of  people  you  never  saw  before,  and 

196 


When  Girls  Come  to  Princeton 


there  is  something  wild  and  reckless  in  being 
quartered  in  an  odd  little  boarding-house,  or, 
more  delicious  still,  in  some  room  in  University 
Hall  borrowed  by  your  entertainer  for  the  occa 
sion,  with  the  owner's  photographs  and  souve 
nirs  hanging  about  just  as  he  left  them.  Then, 
too,  the  young  men  themselves,  some  of  whom 
you  have  met  or  heard  of  before,  try  to  be  very 
agreeable,  and  do  everything  in  their  power  to 
make  you  have  a  good  time,  if  for  no  other  rea 
son,  in  order  that  you  may  see  how  superior 
their  college  is  to  any  other,  so  that  even  sev 
eral-seasoned  society  girls  consider  it  worth 
their  while  to  run  down  to  a  college  dance,  and 
be  amused  by  these  fresh-faced  young  fellows. 
Some  of  them  have  been  coming  off  and  on  for 
several  generations  of  college  men,  and  could 
talk  interestingly  of  your  brother  in  the  class  of 
'88  should  they  be  so  inclined.  They  know  all 
about .  these  hops.  This  is  written  for  you  who 
have  yet  to  attend  one. 

There  are  three  regular  dances  each  year,  and 
they  are  given  by  the  three  upper  classes.  One 
takes  place  at  the  close  of  the  mid-year  exami 
nations,  to  usher  in  the  new  term.  Another  is 
given  at  a  more  beautiful  time  of  the  year,  usu 
ally  occurring  on  the  eve  of  some  great  baseball 
game.  The  third  one,  the  most  splendid  and 
ttt 


When  Girls  Come  to  Princeton 


most  jammed,  is  the  sophomores'  reception, 
given  on  the  night  before  Commencement  to 
the  class  which  graduates  the  following  day. 

Each  class  has  a  dance  committee,  who  fly 
around  and  work  hard  to  make  their  dance  finer 
than  the  last  one,  and  generally  succeed.  They 
procure  a  fine  patroness  list  to  engrave  on  their 
invitations,  containing  several  of  the  sort  of 
names  that  appear  in  connection  with  Patri 
archs'  balls  and  Philadelphia  assemblies,  to 
gether  with  those  of  two  or  three  professors' 
wives,  to  lend  a  tone.  The  committee  get  hold 
of  the  Gymnasium,  pull  down  the  bars  and 
draw  the  trapeze  to  one  side  ;  then  have  a  lot 
of  pink  and  white  cheese-cloth  tacked  up,  hang 
some  athletic  trophies  over  the  rafters,  string  a 
few  hundred  incandescent  lights  here  and  there, 
and  send  to  one  of  the  neighboring  cities  for  a 
smart  caterer  and  a  large  high-priced  orchestra 
to  come  for  the  night.  Then  they  are  ready  for 
you. 

Before  the  dance,  however,  you  are  taken  to 
a  few  teas  which  are  given  by  some  of  the  clubs. 
You  saw  the  club-houses  when  you  were  shown 
about  earlier  in  the  day.  Some  of  them  are 
very  handsome,  and  they  are  all  nice,  and  the 
nicest  is  the  one  to  which  your  brother  belongs, 
or  whoever  owns  the  club-pin  you  carry  home 

198 


V/ben  Girls  Come  to  Princeton 


with  you.  At  the  teas  the  rooms  are  crowded, 
the  air  is  hot,  the  flowers  are  tumbled  over,  you 
become  hoarse,  and  in  most  features  it  is  similar 
to  any  tea,  except  that  there  are  enough  men. 
You  will  here  meet  several  of  those  whose  names 
you  have  on  your  dance-card,  and  you  may 
make  up  your  inind  whether  to  remember  that 
fact  or  not. 

After  the  round  of  teas  there  remain  but  two 
hours  in  which  to  dress.  When  you  have  hur 
ried  on  those  things  which  make  up  "  a  dream," 
"  a  creation,"  or  "a  symphony,"  whichever  it  is 
that  you  bring,  and  have  had,  if  you  feel  like  it, 
a  bit  of  dinner,  you  are  taken,  at  a  little  after 
eight  o'clock,  to  church.  The  Glee,  Banjo,  and 
Mandolin  clubs  give  a  very  good  concert  here, 
and  it  is  a  good  place  to  have  your  escort  point 
out  the  various  men  who  are  fortunate  enough  to 
be  on  your  card,  and  gives  you  a  good  oppor 
tunity  to  notice  the  taste  displayed  by  other 
girls  in  their  costumes,  and  feel  pleased  with 
your  own.  There  are  all  sorts  of  gowns,  made 
of  many  sorts  of  materials  with  interesting 
names. 

When  the  concert  is  at  last  over — much  as  you 
enjoyed  it,  it  seemed  rather  long  to  you,  who 
were  thinking  of  what  was  to  follow — you  are 
taken  to  University  Hall,  which  is  across  the 

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When  Girls  Come  to  Princeton 


street,  or  to  the  Gymnasium,  if  the  dance  is  to 
be  there,  which  is  a  little  farther  back  on  the 
campus,  and  you  are  shown  to  the  dressing- 
room,  where  those  last  fluttering  finishing 
touches  are  put  on.  Those  calm,  assured-look 
ing  young  women  who  came  in  ahead  of  you  are 
a  little  excited  too,  as  is  that  laughing  girl  who 
was  pointed  out  to  you  as  a  flirt. 

When  you  are  quite  ready,  and  are  pulling 
and  smoothing  your  gloves  while  waiting  for 
the  chaperon  to  start  your  party,  you  catch  a 
glimpse  of  something,  as  the  door  opens  for  an 
instant,  which  extends  from  the  door  all  along 
the  dimly  lighted  passage  to  the  very  stairs  be 
yond — something  which  looks  like  a  great  black 
bank  with  gleaming  white  patches  here  and 
there.  This  is  made  up  of  young  men,  whose 
collars  are  stiff  and  straight.  When  your  chap 
eron  stalks  forth  with  a  sort  of  flourish,  several 
members  of  the  black  and  white  bank  come  for 
ward  to  meet  your  party,  and  the  rest  make  in 
audible  comments  upon  your  appearance,  prob 
ably  to  the  effect  that  you  are  "  smooth."  But 
all  that  you  are  sure  of  is  that  your  escort  offers 
you  his  arm  with  a  smile  and  a  stiff  bow,  that 
you  walk  nervously  up  the  winding  stairs,  step 
into  a  dazzle  of  light,  where  members  of  the 
dance  committee  are  running  hither  and  thither 

200 


Wben  Girls  Come  to  Princeton 


with,  dance-cards  and  girls,  and  where  patron 
esses  are  smiling,  bowing,  looking  stately,  hold 
ing  their  fans,  and  doing  whatever  patronesses 
usually  do.  Then  the  orchestra  plays  a  prom 
enade,  to  which  a  few  impatient  couples  try  to 
waltz,  and  you  begin  what  you  have  talked 
about  and  thought  about  and  dreamed  about 
for  a  month. 

You  notice  when  you  have  danced  the  first 
one  with  your  brother's  roommate,  at  whose 
special  invitation  you  came,  that  as  soon  as  he 
has  taken  you  to  your  seat  he  rushes  off  like 
mad.  In  a  moment  he  comes  back  again,  bear 
ing  with  him  the  young  man  who  was  pointed 
out  to  you  at  the  concert  as  being  down  on  your 
card  for  No.  2.  While  he  is  being  presented, 
still  another  anxious-eyed  man  runs  up  and  hur 
riedly  snatches  off  your  host.  These  are  men 
who  are  "  running  "  girls'  cards. 

Now,  while  you  and  your  new  acquaintance 
are  waiting  for  the  music  to  begin,  and  are  ami 
ably  agreeing  that  the  concert  was  good,  that 
the  room  is  warm,  that  the  light  effects  are 
pretty,  you  may  steal  another  glance  at  your 
dance-card  to  make  sure  of  this  man's  name.  It 
is  carefully  written  in  ink  on  the  pretty  silk- 
and-leather-bound  card  which  was  handed  to 
you  on  the  way  to  the  concert.  All  the  numbers 
201 


When  Girls  Come  to  Princeton 

are  filled  and  three  extras.     This  is  the  way  it 
was  done  : 

About  three  weeks  ago  a  young  man  was  sit 
ting  in  the  grand  stand  one  sunny  afternoon 
watching  the  baseball  practice,  and  wondering 
whether  the  nine  would  beat  Harvard,  when  one 
of  his  clubrnates  came  along  and  asked  him  for  a 
match.  He  complied  with  the  request,  and  said, 
"  Don't  mention  it."  Then  the  borrower  of  the 
match  asked  if  he  were  going  to  the  dance,  and 
as  he  admitted  his  intention  of  doing  so,  he  was 
handed  a  preliminary  card  which  had  your 
name  at  the  top  of  it.  Then,  after  a  little  more 
conversation,  he  put  his  name  down  for  No.  2, 
and  handed  it  back  to  your  host,  who  thanked 
him.  And  again  he  said,  "  Don't  mention  it." 
That  was  the  man  who  is  about  to  dance  with 
you.  At  that  time  you  were  unknown  to  him. 
The  other  names  were  secured  in  various  ways. 
In  the  midst  of  a  lecture  your  card  was  passed 
along  to  some  fellow  on  the  end  of  the  row,  who, 
with  the  same  pencil  with  which  he  was  taking 
notes  on  "  Post-Kantian  Philosophy,"  secured 
for  himself  a  deux-temps  with  you.  Other  men 
were  hailed  out  in  front  of  Old  North  when  the 
seniors  were  singing,  or  at  the  club  dinner  ta 
bles,  and  in  the  lounging-rooms  when  they  were 
talking  baseball,  or  when  they  were  at  the  bill- 
202 


When  Girls  Come  to  Princeton 


iard  table  and  had  to  walk  across  the  room  to 
where  their  coats  were  hanging  to  see  their 
cards.  Perhaps  your  host  took  a  night  off  to  it, 
and  went  out  on  the  campus  and  yelled  "  Hello, 
Billy  Wilson !  "  under  Billy  Wilson's  window  to 
see  if  he  were  in  before  he  ran  up  the  stairs  to 
his  room  and  demanded  to  see  his  dance-card ; 
and  went  on  thus  from  entry  to  entry  as  if  he 
were  out  after  subscriptions,  except  that  he 
went  to  his  friends.  Sometimes  it  is  not  an  easy 
task  to  fill  five  or  six  cards,  especially  when 
every  one  is  feeling  rather  down-hearted  over  an 
unfortunate  athletic  season.  Of  course  if  the 
girl  has. been  down  before,  and  is  well  known 
and  popular,  there  is  no  difficulty  of  this  kind. 
Probably  the  next  time  you  come  down  you 
won't  need  a  card. 

Except  for  the  five  dances  which  he  saves  out 
for  himself  you  see  very  little  of  your  host  dur 
ing  the  evening,  and  even  then  he  seems  wor 
ried  and  absent-minded.  It  no  doubt  piques 
you  a  little  that  the  moment  the  music  ceases 
he  leaves  you,  and,  with  an  expression  on  his 
face  which  reminds  you  of  when  "  Pigs  in 
Clover "  was  the  rage,  darts  across  the  room, 
bumping  into  people  and  begging  pardons.  The 
only  time  he  looks  comfortable  and  recalls  to 
your  mind  last  Christmas  holidays  is  when  he 

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When  Girls  Come  to  Princeton 


and  you  have  slipped  off  to  one  of  those  quiet 
little  nooks  so  bounteously  adorned  with  rugs 
and  hangings,  brought  for  the  occasion  from 
some  dormitory  room,  to  enjoy  two  little  bits  of 
ice  which  he  has  pillaged  from  the  supper-room. 
Then  for  a  while  he  seems  to  forget  his  cares, 
and  you  two  have  a  good  old-fashioned  chat. 
You  notice  a  streak  of  chicken-salad  along  his 
silken  collar,  but  that  gives  you  no  adequate 
idea  of  the  muscle  and  bad  language  required  to 
secure  and  bear  away  those  two  little  dabs  of 
ice  and  one  napkin,  any  more  than  his  anxious 
expression  indicates  the  amount  of  patience  and 
ubiquity  required  to  "  run  "  three  girls1  cards  at 
a  college  dance. 

All  this  time  you  have  been  going  through  the 
several  different  stages  of  "a  perfectly  lovely 
time."  You  have  shown  a  lot  of  young  men 
how  well  you  can  dance,  and  have  gotten  along 
very  well  with,  all  you  have  met  except  that 
once  when  you  asked  sweetly,  sympathetically, 
"  Won't  you  be  just  too  glad  to  be  a  sophomore 
next  year?"  of  a  very  studious  and  diminutive 
member  of  the  graduating  class.  The  chat  is  no 
longer  about  the  concert,  nor  is  the  heat  men 
tioned,  though  it  is  terrific,  nor  the  effect  of  the 
lights  upon  the  pink  and  white  cheese-cloth,  ex 
cept  by  those  gallants  who  see  fit  to  say  some- 

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Wben  Girls  Come  to  Princeton 


thing  about  its  being  becoming  to  certain  com 
plexions.  And,  most  gratifying  of  all,  you  no 
tice  that  those  who  have  your  name  on  their 
cards  more  than  once  come  the  second  time  with 
out  being  brought.  Indeed,  some  come  again 
who  have  not  that  good  fortune,  and  you  pay 
slight  attention  to  your  card  after  supper,  but 
dance  with  those  who  come  up  and  beg  for  a 
dance,  because  you  are  tender-hearted  and  hate 
to  displease  them.  It  is  a  good  plan  to  lose 
your  card  now  or  hide  it.  Some  girls  tear  up 
theirs  the  moment  they  come,  for  fear  they 
might  make  a  mistake,  and  consequently  hurt 
somebody's  feelings. 

By  this  time  you  have  gotten  your  second 
wind,  if  you'll  pardon  the  expression.  You  talk 
without  previously  meditating  upon  what  you 
are  about  to  say ;  but  you  know  it's  all  right 
just  as  you  drift  to  the  strains  of  the  music  au 
tomatically.  Your  eyes  are  wide  open  and 
sparkling;  your  cheeks  have  a  flush  which  is 
becoming;  you  are  dimly  conscious  that  your 
visit  at  Princeton  is  a  success.  And  just  as  you 
are  beginning  to  wish  that  all  this  could  last  for 
ever  you  hear  a  strain  of  music  of  which  every 
daughter  of  a  loving  home  should  be  fond,  and 
then,  for  the  first  time,  you  notice  that  the 
stately  patronesses  in  their  bower  are  opening 

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When  Girls  Come  to  Princeton 

their  eyes  very  wide  and  gritting  their  teeth 
very  hard.  Then,  having  danced  that  last  one 
furiously,  you  are  dragged  off,  casting  a  linger 
ing  glance  at  faded  flowers,  wilted  collars,  tired 
musicians,  torn  skirts. 

When  you  come  from  the  noisy,  laughing 
dressing-room  a  moment  later,  wrapped  from 
head  to  foot  in  a  great  long  thing  which  covers 
any  changes  the  five  hours'  exercise  might  have 
wrought  in  your  appearance,  you  are  met  by 
your  bedraggled  escort  under  the  light,  where 
you  took  his  arm  before,  long  ago,  on  the  way  to 
the  dance.  You  can  remember  how  stiff  his  col 
lar  was  then  and  how  smooth  his  hair.  Every 
thing,  animate  and  inanimate,  looks  different 
now,  especially  with  that  ghastly  streak  of 
dawn  which  mingles  with  the  electric  light.  It 
makes  some  of  the  girls  look  rather  faded  and 
jaded,  you  think,  and  some  of  the  men  rather 
rakish,  but  not  even  the  girls  seem  to  care  very 
much.  Every  one  is  too  excited  to  be  tired,  and 
too  merry  to  be  formal.  All  the  stiffness  of 
your  escort's  manner  has  gone  with  that  of  his 
collar.  As  he  offers  his  arm  this  time  he  does 
not  gaze  straight  ahead  of  him  and  murmur 
something  incoherent  about  hoping  that  you  are 
going  to  enjoy  this,  for  he  begins  singing  "It's 
all  over  now,"  to  the  dank  and  misty  campus 

206 


Wben  Girls  Come  to  Princeton 


trees  on  the  way  to  University  Hall,  and  you 
give  him  permission  to  smoke  a  cigarette,  and 
shout  good-night  down  the  stairs,  and  tell  him 
what  time  to  call  around  in  the  morning — later 
on  in  the  morning — for  he  has  made  you  prom 
ise  to  stay  over  all  of  the  following  day  and  see 
a  little  of  the  college  and  campus,  and  take  a 
stroll  in  the  queer  old  town. 

Then,  as  the  gray  dawn  creeps  in  through  the 
dotted  Swiss  curtains  which  somebody  made  for 
the  freshman  who  owns  the  room,  causing  the 
roses  on  the  bureau  to  look  pale  and  livid,  and 
while  the  far-away  voices  of  the  dance  com 
mittee  can  be  heard  from  back  of  AYither- 
spoon,  where  they  are  having  an  informal  game 
of  baseball  in  their  evening  clothes  to  celebrate 
the  success  of  their  efforts,  and  the  sparrows 
outside  your  window  begin  to  twitter  as  though 
there  had  been  no  dance,  you  lay  your  head 
upon  the  pillow  and  tell  your  roommate  what 
the  tall  one  said  who  danced  the  two-step  so 
divinely,  and  what  that  funny  little  fellow  with 
frowsy  hair  told  you,  and  what  were  the  re 
marks  of  the  football  man  with  whom  you  sat 
out  two  dances,  and  how  the  entertaining  man 
who  sang  the  solo  at  the  concert  seemed  to  like 
you,  and  what  your  brother's  roommate  told  you 
not  to  tell. 

307 


THE  LITTLE  TUTOR 


THE   LITTLE  TUTOR 

AT  first  they  thought  he  was  one  of  the  new 
students,  he  was  such  a  little  fellow  and 
had  such  a  smooth,  boyish  face.  And  one  of 
the  college  men  had  stopped  him  on  the  street, 
and,  in  a  manner  that  seemed  to  indicate  that 
he  had  some  particular  reason  for  desiring  the 
information,  asked  him  abruptly :  "  What  class 
do  you  belong  to  ?  " 

The  little  tutor  had  looked  up  timidly  through 
his  large  spectacles  and  answered,  in  his  thin, 
high  voice  :  "I  am  not  a  member  of  any  of  the 
classes.  I  am  to  be  one  of  the  instructors  in 
the  academy." 

He  had  smiled  reassuringly,  to  show  that  he 
did  not  take  any  offence.  But  the  tall  young 
man  did  not  seem  to  dream  of  embarrassment ; 
he  only  said  :  "You  are  ?  "  and  passed  on. 

This  happened  early  in  September,  the  day 
before  the  term  opened,  and  the  little  tutor  had 
been  busying  himself  looking  about  the  campus 
and  getting  his  bearings  in  the  little  city.  He 
had  never  been  in  the  West  before,  and  this 

211 


The  Little  Tutor 


seemed  very  far  out  West ;  it  was  like  a  foreign 
country  to  him.  The  broad,  evenly  laid,  well- 
kept  streets  lined  with  so  many  fine  lawns,  were 
a  matter  of  great  interest  and  speculation.  He 
thought  it  queer  that  when  a  man  could  afford 
to  have  nearly  a  whole  block  of  lawn  that  he 
should  have  only  a  frame  house  upon  it,  but 
some  of  these  frame  houses  were  very  large  and 
comfortable  and  invariably  freshly  painted,  and 
he  liked  that.  He  admired  the  new  and  hand 
some  business  blocks  of  fine  brick  and  stone. 
But  what  seemed  most  wonderful  to  him  was 
the  broad,  level  sweep  of  the  prairie  when  he 
walked  out  into  the  country.  It  almost  took 
his  breath  away. 

But  it  was  the  campus,  as  being  his  future 
place  of  work,  that  occupied  most  of  his  atten 
tion  and  curiosity.  He  walked  slowly  over  it 
all,  examining  each  building  and  every  feature 
thoughtfully  and  with  a  critical  air  as  one  about 
to  buy.  There  were  only  about  a  half-dozen 
buildings  in  all,  including  both  the  college  and 
academy.  It  struck  him  as  odd  that  both  insti 
tutions  should  be  on  the  same  grounds  and 
apparently  of  the  same  importance.  The  build 
ings  were  rather  new,  and  he  missed  the  digni 
fied,  patriarchal  aspect  of  the  old  campus  he 
had  been  accustomed  to.  He  thought  he  could 


The  Little  Tutor 


never  feel  any  veneration  for  all  this  brand-new 
ness  as  lie  had  toward  those  old  landmarks  he 
loved  so  well.  Indeed,  it  all  seemed  small  and 
puny  viewed  in  this  light,  and  he  walked  about 
with  rather  a  patronizing  air,  as  he  thought  with 
pride  of  his  Alma  Mater,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  this  institution  was  favored  in  obtaining  for 
an  instructor  a  graduate  of  such  a  famous  old 
institution — and  an  honorman,  too,  he  said  to 
himself,  with  a  blush  of  satisfaction. 

Of  course,  this  preparatory  school  teaching 
was  only  temporary  with  him.  Only  a  prepara 
tion  for  something  else,  and  that  but  a  step  to 
something  higher,  until  he  became — but  the  lit 
tle  tutor  never  acknowledged  just  how  high  his 
ambition  aimed.  It  was  at  this  point,  as  he  was 
leaning  against  a  tree,  that  the  young  man  had 
come  up  and  asked  him  what  class  he  belonged 
to. 

But  he  had  not  minded  that  in  the  least ;  he 
knew  how  boyish-looking  he  was.  It  was  very 
natural  for  them  to  make  such  mistakes.  A  lit 
tle  thing  like  that  would  not  discourage  him. 
They  did  not  know  him  ;  wait  a  few  days,  and 
they  would  learn  who  he  was. 

And  he  was  right.  The  whole  college  and 
academy  learned  who  he  was  the  very  next  af 
ternoon  in  chapel.  And  even  the  townsfolk 

213 


The  Little  Tutor 


soon  learned  to  know  him  by  sight ;  they 
thought  it  odd  that  such  a  little  fellow  should 
be  a  professor.  By  the  end  of  the  month  the 
children  coming  home  from  school  had  learned 
to  point  out  his  small  figure  with  the  large  head, 
carried  with  his  peculiar,  springing  strides,  and 
they  would  say  to  one  another,  "  There  goes  the 
Little  Tutor." 

But  as  they  watched  him  walking  briskly  by, 
holding  his  body  stiff  and  straight,  they  little 
knew  what  was  going  on  behind  that  smile, 
which  was  a  curious  mixture  of  gravity  and  good 
nature. 

For  some  reason  or  other  things  had  not  gone 
as  he  had  expected,  and  so  far,  at  least,  they 
were  not  tending  toward  the  future  he  had  pict 
ured. 

He  had  thought  that  out  there  they  would 
appreciate  that  he  came  from  such  a  large,  fa 
mous  old  institution,  and  that  he  had  stood  so 
well  in  his  class  and  all  that ;  but  neither  the 
attitude  of  the  faculty,  college,  nor  academy  in 
dicated  anything  of  the  kind,  he  thought.  And 
this  wasn't  all.  No  one  seemed  to  take  any  in 
terest  in  him  as  an  individual.  That  is,  beyond 
a  cold  curiosity. 

He  did  not  see  why  no  one  took  the  initiative 
and  made  friends  with  him  ;  he  could  not,  being 

314 


The  Little  Tutor 


a  new-comer.  He  knew  he  had  never  been  very 
popular  at  college,  but  he  had  a  few  good 
friends,  and  nearly  every  one  of  his  classmates 
was  kind  to  him.  As  he  looked  back  on  those 
dear  old  days,  midst  those  dear  old  influences, 
his  present  surroundings  seemed  cold,  very 
cold. 

And  he  could  not  explain  this  coldness. 
Surely  it  could  not  all  be  on  account  of  that 
first  mistake.  Oh,  that  terrible  first  day  in 
chapel.  He  thought  he  would  never  forget  it. 
He  remembered  sitting  up  there  on  the  plat 
form,  before  all  the  college  and  academy — for 
out  there  the  whole  faculty  come  to  chapel,  and 
they  sit  in  a  semicircle  behind  the  President. 
He  was  conscious  of  many  eyes  being  upon 
him,  and  he  knew  what  they  were  thinking  and 
/hispering  to  each  other,  "Is  that  the  new  tu 
tor  ? "  "  What  a  kid  !  "  And,  indeed,  as  he 
cast  his  eyes  furtively  over  the  faces  before  him 
he  discovered  even  among  the  preps,  many  a 
raw-boned  countryman  who  was  his  senior  in 
years,  and  this  thought  had  so  rattled  him  that 
he  took  off  his  glasses — those  large  owl-eyed 
things — and  began  wiping  them,  as  he  always 
did  when  embarrassed,  and  then  he  suddenly 
reminded  himself  that  this  always  made  him  ap 
pear  more  youthful,  and  so  he  clapped  them  on 

215 


The  Little  Tutor 


again.  He  had  not  felt  this  peculiar  lonely  out- 
of-it  feeling  for  a  good  many  years  ;  no,  not 
since  beginning  of  freshman  year,  at  his  first 
eating  club. 

But  what  was  that  ?  He  had  heard  his  name 
pronounced.  Surely  he  was  not  going  to  be 
called  upon  to  lead  in  prayer.  Then  the  whole 
sentence  re-echoed  in  his  confused  brain,  the 
distinct  clear-cut  words  of  the  President,  "  Ho 
ratio  B.  Stacy,  A.B.,  will  be  Professor  Wilkin's 
assistant  in  the  academy."  If  any  of  the  bold, 
searching  eyes  had  for  a  moment  wandered  from 
him,  he  knew  they  had  returned  again  now. 
He  remembered  wondering  if  he  jumped  enough 
for  them  to  see  him.  He  remembered  how  the 
steam -heater  rattled  and  pounded  in  the  little 
chapel  and  the  odor  of  the  new  paint,  as  the 
young  President  went  on  with .  his  perfectly 
enunciated  words  in  his  clear  and  cold  voice : 
"  He  comes  highly  recommended  from  a  good 
Eastern  college.  I  trust  he  will  prove  satisfac 
tory.  Let  us  sing  number  three  hundred  and 
sixteenth."  The  President  pronounced  six 
teenth  perfectly.  And  the  organ  burst  forth 
with  a  loud,  cruel  prelude,  and  the  hymn  was 
sung.  The  little  tutor  always  remembered 
number  three  hundred  and  sixteen,  one  bar  of 
which  always  seemed  to  sing  "satisfactory." 

216 


The  Little  Tutor 


When  the  long  hymn  was  finished,  the 
President,  having  pronounced  the  benediction, 
stepped  down  from  the  platform  and  started 
down  the  centre  aisle,  followed  by  an  old  white- 
headed  professor,  and  he  by  the  professor  on 
his  left.  The  little  tutor  sat  next,  and  so,  in 
nocently  enough,  he  started  down  behind  them. 
How  was  he  to  know  that  there  was  a  custom  to 
be  observed  in  this  trooping  out  of  chapel,  that 
the  order  was  determined  by  precedence  ?  All, 
it  made  him  flush  when  he  thought  of  it,  even 
now.  He  could  remember  just  how  the  whole 
college  and  academy  laughed — they  did  not  tit 
ter,  but  laughed  outright — and  when  he  realized 
the  position  and  hesitated,  trembling,  half-way 
down  the  aisle,  and  tried  to  smile,  some  of  them 
fairly  shouted.  He  could  even  now  see,  in  his 
mind,  the  face  of  one  of  the  college  men  next 
to  the  aisle  as  he  leaned  back  and  laughed 
merrily,  cruelly,  looking  squarely  into  the  little 
tutor's  eyes  without  pretending  to  control  his 
mirth.  The  little  tutor  never  remembered  how 
he  gained  the  cool  of  the  outside. 

But  why  was  he  to  be  blamed  ?  They  should 
have  told  him.  How  was  he  to  know  that  there 
was  any  rule  about  the  matter  ?  At  his  college 
the  professors  never  attended  chapel;  that  is, 
except  two  or  three,  who  sat  in  the  stalls. 

217 


The  Little  Tutor 


The  next  morning,  with  some  fear  and  much 
hope,  he  had  met  his  first  class.  Perhaps  his 
hand  shook  a  little  as  he  held  the  roll  while 
his  pupils  came  into  the  room,  and  his  voice 
trembled,  perhaps,  as  he  addressed  the  class, 
and  he  couldn't  help  blushing — his  old  failing 
— when  he  heard  the  laugh  caused  by  his  mis 
pronouncing  a  queer  name  ;  but  he  told  himself 
that  he  had  gotten  along  splendidly  when  the 
long  day  was  over,  and  the  future  seemed  bright 
once  more  as  he  planned  his  work. 

He  thought  out  just  what  his  attitude  toward 
his  pupils  would  be.  He  was  determined  that 
he  would  not  lord  it  over  them,  but  would  win 
their  confidence,  become  friends  with  them,  get 
to  know  them  all  personally,  and  invite  them 
around  to  his  rooms  some  time,  perhaps.  He 
even  determined  upon  his  policy  of  discipline, 
if  that  should  become  necessary.  He  would 
not,  he  thought,  be  sarcastic  with  them,  as  one 
of  his  professors  at  college  used  to;  no,  be 
cause  that,  he  deemed,  was  taking  a  mean  ad 
vantage  of  the  student,  who  could  not,  by  reason 
of  the  relations  of  master  and  pupil,  answer  back ; 
the  master  had  it  all  on  his  side.  Neither  did 
he  think  he  would  affect  the  indignant  attitude  ; 
no,  because — well,  he  remembered  the  fellows' 
laugh  at  him  when  he  once  tried  to  be  indig- 

218 


The  Little  Tutor 


nant.  He  would  assume  a  dignified  disregard, 
as  the  dean  used  to.  That  was  the  best  method 
of  maintaining  order  and  attention  in  a  class 
room.  That  would  best  become  Horatio  B. 
Stacy,  A.B.  He  fell  asleep  that  night  wonder 
ing  what  his  pupils  would  give  him  for  a  nick 
name. 

Now,  as  the  week  went  by  he  never  had  been 
obliged  to  exercise  his  authority.  The  classes 
all  paid  very  good  attention,  better  than  he  had 
hoped  for.  But  how  very  different  this  thing 
teaching  was  from  what  he  had  supposed ! 

The  little  tutor  had  been  there  almost  a 
month ;  he  had  walked  all  around  the  town  and 
about  the  country;  had  faithfully  attended  all 
his  classes,  and  sometimes  he  had  six  hours  a 
day  ;  had  gone  to  chapel  every  evening  at  five  ; 
had  sat,  stared  at,  in  the  semicircle  behind  the 
President,  and  had  trooped  out  again  with  his 
odd  gait,  and  always  the  last  one  in  the  proces 
sion  now.  But  he  had  not  a  single  friend  in 
the  State,  unless  it  was  his  landlady  with  the 
false  hair  front. 

He  remembered  thinking  at  college  that  the 
attitude  of  those  dear  old  professors  was  rather 
distant.  But  that  dignified  conservatism  was 
nothing  like  this  unconcern,  this  icy  indiffer 
ence,  manifested  by  these  professors  and  assist- 

219 


The  Little  Tutor 


ants  ;  and  lie  was  one  of  their  number  remem 
ber,  too. 

He  smiled  grimly  as  he  recollected  how  that, 
when  he  first  came,  he  had  rather  expected  that 
some  of  them  might  invite  him  to  dine.  This 
he  deemed  would  be  proper  in  view  of  his  posi 
tion  as  an  assistant,  especially  as  this  institu 
tion  was  so  small  that  the  faculty  was  not  large 
enough  to  be  divided  into  many  cliques.  And 
he  had  even  pictured  himself  enjoying  a  delight 
ful  conversation  with  that  old,  white-haired  pro 
fessor  whom  he  had  taken  such  a  fancy  to,  or, 
perhaps,  holding  an  animated  discussion  with 
some  of  them  as  to  the  respective  merits  of 
Western  and  Eastern  colleges. 

But  he  could  have  endured  their  attitude  if 
only  his  plans  would  work  in  regard  to  his 
classes.  It  was  about  his  pupils  that  he  thought 
the  most.  He  made  a  study  of  each  man  and 
each  mind  and  learned  what  to  expect  from 
each :  which  were  good  at  one  kind  of  work 
and  which  at  another ;  which  were  the  bright, 
indolent  fellows  and  which  were  the  plodders. 
They  nearly  all  worked  quite  hard,  that  was 
the  one  encouraging  thing.  But  he  could  not 
understand  them.  The  little  tutor  had  never 
been  to  a  preparatory  school  himself,  but  he 
felt  certain  that  these  fellows  were  not  like  most 

330 


The  Little  Tutor 


preps.  He  certainly  could  not  understand  their 
attitude  toward  himself.  He  wanted  to  be 
friendly  with  them  all,  and  tried  to  laugh  and 
joke  occasionally  to  make  the  relations  easy, 
but  it  was  of  no  use,  they  only  looked  at  him  in 
quiringly,  as  if  he  were  doing  something  they 
hadn't  bargained  for.  They  all  came  to  recita 
tion  in  a  business-like  way,  which  seemed  to 
say,  "  Here  we  are,  now  you  teach  us." 

They  never  thought  of  bowing  to  him  as  they 
came  in.  They  seemed  to  regard  him  only  as 
an  automaton  that  was  paid  —  and  by  their 
money — to  stand  up  there  and  teach,  and  he 
would  not  have  believed  that  he  was  thought 
of  by  them  outside,  that  he  entered  into  their 
existence  at  all,  if  he  had  not  one  day  come 
into  the  room  with  rubber  over-shoes  on  his 
feet  and  heard  them  say  something  about  the 
"Little  Tutor."  That  was  the  time  he  learned 
his  nickname,  and  he  felt  rather  glad  when 
he  heard  them  say  it,  though  they  were  some 
what  confused  when  they  turned  arid  saw 
him. 

When  recitations  were  over,  when  they  had 
gotten  their  money's  worth,  they  returned  to 
their  lodgings  in  the  same  brisk  business-like 
manner,  for  dormitories  are  scarce  out  there. 
The  little  tutor  thought  perhaps  this  had  some- 
221 


The  Little  Tutor 


thing  to  do  with  the  lack  of  college  feeling  in 
the  institution.  There  was  no  esprit  de  corps. 
They  were,  the  whole  collection  of  them,  college 
and  academy,  simply  a  lot  of  young  men  who 
came  together  in  one  place,  paid  their  money 
and  got  an  education  by  which  they  would  earn 
more  than  enough  to  repay  them.  So  you  see 
it  was  a  good  bargain.  Perhaps  this  was  putting 
it  too  strongly,  he  reminded  himself,  for  there 
was  some  feeble  exhibition  of  class  spirit  once 
or  twice,  and  a  football  team,  too,  that  prac 
tised  after  supper  in  their  shirt-sleeves.  But, 
oh !  how  he  longed  for  a  sight  of  those  old  fa 
miliar  figures  he  used  to  see  slouching  carelessly 
across  the  campus  in  corduroys  and  sweaters, 
with  pipes  and  songs  and  all  that  easy  good 
friendship,  and  the  practising  at  the  Varsity 
grounds.  But  these  are  bitter  thoughts. 

He  hoped  that  these  pupils  of  his  would  not 
always  wear  linen  shirts.  He  wished  their  vests 
were  not  cut  so  low.  He  longed  for  a  sight  of  a 
familiar  cheviot  shirt  and  a  carelessly  tied  bow 
at  the  neck.  He  would  have  given  a  good  deal, 
he  thought,  just  to  see  one  man  walking  by 
with  a  sweater  tied  by  the  arms  about  his  neck, 
a  dirty  sweater  perhaps,  and  his  hands  deep 
down  in  his  pockets.  Sometimes  he  felt  that  he 
would  enjoy,  yes,  actually,  hearing  somebody 
222 


The  Little  Tutor 


flunk  in  one  of  his  classes.  Who  would  have 
thought  that  of  little  poler  Stacy  ? 

You  see  the  boy  was  almost  hysterical  with 
this  morbid  homesickness.  He  was  brim  full  of 
it,  and  a  very  slight  jar  would  have  been  enough 
to  upset  him  and  spill  it  all. 

Sometimes  he  realized  that  he  was  making  a 
fool  of  himself  and  then  he  used  to  take  himself 
in  hand  for  being  so  childish.  But  he  had  al 
ways  had  these  little  boyish  ways  of  thinking 
about  the  people  and  things  around  him.  He 
remembered  how  it  was  at  college ;  when  he 
first  came  as  a  freshman  his  poor  little  brain 
was  nearly  worn  out  with  wondering  and  imagin 
ing,  and  when  he  fell  to  thinking  of  those  days 
long  ago,  it  seemed  impossible  to  him  that  he 
was  a  grown  man  now  and  teaching  in  an  acad 
emy.  But  it  was  true,  and  the  framed  diploma 
hung  in  his  room.  And,  what  was  more  to  the 
point,  he  was  making  money.  He  had  felt  en 
couraged  when  he  received  his  first  earnings. 

On  a  Saturday  evening  he  had  called  around 
at  the  treasurer's  office  and  received  his  money, 
carefully  counted  and  put  in  an  envelope  with  a 
blue  lining.  The  treasurer  was  an  old  man  with 
a  hard  face,  and  when  the  little  tutor  came  in  he 
did  not  say  "  How  do  you  do,"  or  anything,  but 
simply  turned  toward  the  safe  and  took  out  the 


The  Little  Tutor 


money,  keeping  the  pen  in  his  teeth  as  he  did 
so,  and  only  taking  it  out  to  ask,  as  he  looked 
up  at  the  little  tutor,  "  That  is  right,"  in  an  exact 
tone,  " is  it  not?" 

He  hated  this  proceeding,  and  hoped  that  next 
time  there  would  not  be  the  right  amount,  so 
that  he  might  have  a  cheque.  But  he  felt  light- 
hearted  when  he  earned  the  money  to  his  room 
and  wrote  his  letter  home  and  enclosed  a  certain 
share  of  his  profits.  Prospects  seemed  brighter 
and  his  hopes  ran  high,  and  his  dreams  ran 
away  out  into  the  future  when  all  his  drudgery 
would  be  over  and  he  would  be  recognized  as  a 
great  man,  an  authority  on  —  but  somehow  it 
was  hard  to  hold  those  old  aspirations  that  had 
seemed  so  realizable  about  commencement  time, 
when  he  was  an  honor  man.  This  cold  western 
climate  and  these  common-sense  practical  New 
Englanders  seemed  to  have  a  chilling  effect  upon 
his  ambitions,  especially  as  his  self-confidence 
was  never  very  firmly  rooted,  for  he  was  not, 
strangely  enough  for  a  young  man,  very  much  of 
a  believer  in  himself,  and  his  conceit  was  not 
spontaneous,  but  was  of  the  bolstered-up  kind, 
so  that  when  he  halted  in  his  castle-building  he 
was  in  a  very  dangerous  position,  for,  if  you 
take  a  young  man's  conceit  away  from  him,  is 
he  not  in  a  very  dangerous  position  indeed  ? 

224 


The  Little  Tutor 


He  was  also,  he  told  himself,  learning  this  life 
lesson  :  that  to  win  what  men  call  success  in  this 
world  required  something  that  he  was  afraid  he 
did  not  possess  :  he  did  not  know  exactly  what 
to  call  it.  When  he  was  in  college  he  used  to 
comfort  himself  with  saying  :  "  Never  mind,  you 
may  not  amount  to  much  here,  but  when  you 
get  out  in  the  world  individual  worth  will  not  be 
handicapped  by  modesty."  But  he  wras  begin 
ning  to  despair  of  this.  It  would  do  well  enough 
in  books,  but  it  took  what  they  call  bluff  to  get 
along  with  men,  even  if  you  want  to  do  them 
good,  and  this,  he  knew  very  well,  he  did  not, 
and  never  could,  possess.  And  when  he  followed 
this  line  of  thought,  he  used  to  sigh  and  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  what  the  world  called  success 
was  not  worth  the  struggle  when  one  had  to  use 
such  manoeuvring  to  win  it.  But  he  reminded 
himself  that  he  must  not  allow  himself  to  sink 
into  such  pessimism,  as  in  his  case  those  at 
home  had  a  claim  upon  him. 

It  was  not  at  all  characteristic  of  the  "  little 
Stacy  "  of  college  days  to  become  so  despondent, 
for  he  was  of  a  hopeful,  trusting  disposition,  and 
it  was  all  because  he  had  no  friend  to  talk  to,  no 
kindred  spirit  for  his  confiding  nature,  or  any 
other  kind  for  that  matter. 

His  discouragement  took  the  form  of  indigna- 

225 


The  Little  Tutor 


tion  in  the  end,  but  not  before  lie  had  several 
times  taken  hope  and  smiled  in  his  old  trustful 
way,  only  to  find  that  it  was  a  blind  lead. 

For  instance  when  that  young  Wheaton  in  his 
rhetoric  class  appeared  to  be  striking  up  a 
friendship  with  him,  and  even  walked  through 
the  campus  several  times  with  him,  the  chances 
of  having  a  friend  had  seemed  fair  and  he  began 
to  think  that  at  last  he  was  being  appreciated 
by  one  fellow,  and  a  nice  fellow  too.  But  after 
young  Wheaton  had  obtained  an  extension  of 
time  on  the  essay  he  was  to  write  his  manifesta 
tions  of  friendliness  suddenly  ceased.  And  the 
little  tutor  wondered  how  he  had  offended  his 
pupil. 

Then  there  was  the  time  he  was  invited  to  a 
certain  annual "  reception  that  is  always  given. 
The  little  tutor  knew  that  he  was  asked  only  by 
reason  of  his  position,  but  he  remembered  ac 
cepting  with  a  good  deal  of  pleasure,  and  the  an 
ticipation  of  his  entree  into  the  society  of  the 
town  was  a  matter  of  no  small  excitement  to 
him  :  a  good  deal  depended  on  it,  he  had  told 
himself.  He  meditated  considerably  over  the 
manner  of  conducting  himself  in  his  first  appear 
ance  in  society  as  an  instructor  :  what  was  be 
coming  to  a  tutor,  nnd  just  how  dignified  he 
ought  to  appear,  and  he  even  found  himself  prac- 


The  Little  Tutor 


tising  remarks  in  his  room  and  examining  in  the 
glass  the  expression  of  his  face  and  all  those  old 
failings  of  his  self-conscious  nature  of  which  he 
was  so  ashamed.  He  remembered  how  excited 
he  was  as  he  rang  the  door-bell,  and  how  awk 
wardly  he  bowed  when  he  had  come  down-stairs, 
and  how  little  the  people  restrained  their  curi 
osity  in  examining  him.  He  did  not  mingle 
with  the  younger  people  any  more  than  he  could 
help,  for  he  always  hated  young  ladies,  but 
stayed  writh  a  group  of  wrornen  who  were  talking 
about  Emerson. 

These  ladies  were  members  of  a  literary  club, 
which  thought  itself  very  literary  and  tried  to  be 
Bostonian ;  and  no  doubt  it  was.  Stacy  had 
some  very  good  ideas,  and  would  have  been  wil 
ling  to  express  them,  and  could  have  quoted 
readily  from  an  essay  he  had  once  written,  but 
somehow  they  did  not  seem  to  be  expecting 
anything  from  him  except  to  smile  and  say, 
"Yes,  certainly,"  now  and  then,  as  those  two 
young  assistants  were  doing,  and  so  he  tried  to 
pick  up  a  low-toned  conversation  with  one  of 
them  on  the  edge  of  the  circle.  But  they  made 
themselves  so  obnoxious  by  their  air  of  supe 
riority  that  he  boldly  made  some  allusion  to  the 
athletic  insignificance  on  the  part  of  their  col 
lege  in  comparison  with  his  own.  One  of  them 

227 


The  Little  Tutor 


immediately  made  some  answer  which  brought 
in  something  about  Yale  (at  which  the  other 
laughed  loudly),  and  then  drew  up  his  brow  and 
looked  complacent,  as  if  he  had  made  a  splen 
did  shot.  The  poor  little  tutor  turned  on  his 
heel  furious,  and  felt  a  strange  desire  to  swear, 
something  that  he  had  never  done  in  all  his  in 
nocent  life. 

He  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  fault  of 
this  whole  matter  lay  not  in  himself,  but  in 
them.  This  is  what  he  conceived  to  be  the  rea 
son  :  Nearly  everyone  in  the  little  city,  students, 
faculty  and  townspeople,  were  New  Englanders 
by  blood  or  birth.  That  part  of  the  country, 
like  other  sections  of  the  West,  happened  to 
have  been  settled  entirely  by  New  Englanders. 
Perhaps  they  were  not  all  of  the  best  sort  of 
New  England  extraction  either.  At  any  rate 
no  one  knew  anything  but  New  England  ways  of 
doing  things  and  looking  at  things,  and  to  the 
little  tutor,  whose  environments  had  not  been 
such  as  to  cause  him  to  bow  down  and  worship 
the  Pilgrim  fathers,  or  to  think  that  the  sun  rose 
and  set  on  Plymouth  Rock,  all  this  was  at  first 
a  matter  of  surprise,  then  of  wonder,  and  finally 
of  hate. 

Every  day  in  chapel  the  President  spoke  in 
his  cold  tones  of  character  moulding,  and  held 

228 


The  Little  Tutor 


up  before  his  hearers  Puritan  models.  On  Sun 
days  the  little  tutor  went  to  the  principal  church 
of  the  place,  and  a  kind  of  essay  that  seemed  to 
him  nothing  but  washed-out  New  Englandism 
was  thrown  out  to  him.  The  text-books  were 
all  those  of  New  England  writers  ;  all  the  man 
ners  and  customs  about  the  college  were  copied 
after  New  England  colleges  ;  the  very  composi 
tions  that  he  had  to  correct  contained  allusions 
to  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  and  sturdy  New  Eng 
land  character  and  noble  Puritan  traits  until 
the  little  tutor  began  to  wish  that  there  never 
had  been  a  Plymouth  Eock.  He  wondered  how 
everyone  else  seemed  to  stand  it  so  well.  But 
they  had  been  brought  up  on  it  and  never  knew 
anything  different,  and  could  not  conceive  of 
any  one's  not  thinking  as  they  did  and  as  their 
fathers  did  and  as  their  great-grandfathers  had 
done,  and  pitied  (on!-.  Stacy  doubted  if  they 
could  pity)  any  family  that  did  not  have  a  piece 
of  the  Mayflower  to  worship. 

The  most  aggravating  feature  of  it,  to  the  lit 
tle  tutor,  was  that  they  were  so  very  self-satis 
fied  about  it  all,  never  dreaming  that  there  could 
be  anyone  so  barbarous  as  not  to  envy  their 
New  England  blood,  and  it  was  this  attitude 
that  used  to  make  the  little  tutor  indignant  and 
cause  him  to  wish  he  could  be  sarcastic,  as  one 

229 


The  Little  Tutor 


of  his  professors  used  to  be :  how  he  would  pitch 
into  them !  But  the  worst  of  it  was  that  he  real 
ized  his  diminutiveness  and  his  boyishness ;  so 
he  felt  helpless  and  baffled,  and  he  had  to  sub 
mit  to  the  cold  indifference  and  haughty  air  of 
superiority  worn  by  those  two  young  assistants 
not  much  older  than  himself,  who  graduated 
from  such  a  miserable  little  unheard-of  college. 
Stacy  thought  that  if  they  had  gone  to  his  col 
lege  they  would  have  had  some  of  the  conceit 
taken  out  of  them.  He  thought  he  might  stand 
it  all  as  far  as  he  was  concerned,  but  he  felt 
somehow  as  if  they  were  insulting  his  college  in 
their  treatment  of  himself,  her  representative. 
He  blushed  to  think  how  poor  a  representative 
he  Avas. 

It  was  just  at  this  point  in  his  discourage 
ment  that  he  had  an  opportunity  which  he  had 
often  longed  for.  At  last  he  would  have  a 
chance  to  show  them  what  was  in  him.  This 
would  be  his  final  stroke,  he  told  himself,  and 
he  staked  his  all  upon  it.  He  was  to  lead  the 
prayer-meeting.  These  prayer-meetings  were 
attended  by  the  college,  the  academy,  and  even 
the  professors. 

Like  many  excessively  shy  men,  the  little 
tutor  was  not  abashed  before  a  crowd  when  he 
appeared  in  some  identity  other  than  his  own. 

230 


The  Little  Tutor 


At  college  lie  had  always  done  well  in  his  ora 
tions,  because  unconsciously  he  merged  his  own 
personality  into  that  of  an  imaginary  orator.  So 
on  this  occasion  he  was  perfectly  cool ;  indeed, 
he  was  surprised  at  himself.  The  subject  was, 
"  Help  one  another."  He  had  thought,  in  pre 
paring  it,  that  it  was  a  singular  coincidence,  his 
having  that  subject.  He  thought  he  could  talk 
to  them  from  his  heart  on  such  a  subject.  And 
he  did. 

They  all  listened  intently,  and  he  thought 
they  must  be  surprised  to  see  how  thoughtful 
he  was,  and  how  earnest,  and  what  a  splendid 
speaker  he  was.  AVhen  he  finished,  he  knew 
that  he  had  done  well. 

He  felt  almost  joyful  when  he  returned  to  his 
room.  He  dreamed  that  night  that  certain  men 
came  vip  to  him  as  he  was  walking  alone,  and 
tried  to  become  intimate  with  him,  as  he  had 
seen  it  done  at  college  with  fellows  who  had 
suddenly  become  prominent. 

The  next  morning  he  was  joined  on  the  way 
to  the  campus  by  the  principal  of  the  academy. 
Stacy  thought  he  was  going  to  compliment  him 
upon  his  admirable  talk.  But  he  was  mistaken. 
He  even  hinted  about  it  indirectly,  though 
ashamed  of  himself  for  so  doing ;  but  this  had 
no  effect.  At  last,  in  desperation,  he  was  go- 

381 


The  Little  Tutor 


ing  to  say,  "  Professor  Thome,  may  I  ask  you 
whether  my  talk  last  evening  met  your  approv 
al,"  but  while  he  was  trying  to  invent  some  ex 
cuse  for  such  a  question  they  reached  the  acad 
emy  building. 

As  he  took  his  seat  on  the  platform  waiting 
for  morning  prayers  to  begin  (the  academy  had 
prayers  as  well  as  evening  chapel),  he  looked 
around  at  the  preps,  and  studied  their  faces 
carefully. 

Professor  Thorne  that  morning  spoke  on  one 
aspect  of  character-moulding,  namely,  "  Inde 
pendence."  He  did  not  directly  mention  the 
address  of  the  evening  before,  but  Stacy  thought 
he  might  just  as  well  have,  as  he  sat  there  be 
side  the  principal  before  the  eyes  of  the  whole 
academy  without  changing  his  gaze  from  the 
floor  or  moving  a  muscle,  except  once,  when  the 
principal  made  some  reference  to  the  sturdy 
New  England  character;  then  the  little  tutor 
made  a  slight  involuntary  gesture,  but  no  one 
noticed  it. 

That  morning  in  the  class-room  the  little 
tutor  did  not  seem  himself,  and  his  pupils 
watched  him  curiously.  And  if  the  conduct 
and  appearance  of  the  little  tutor  was  un 
usual  that  morning,  what  was  it  in  the  after 
noon  ! 

232 


The  Little  Tutor 


At  one  o'clock,  when  nearly  every  one  went 
doAvn  to  get  the  mail,  the  little  tutor  was  casu 
ally  noticed  by  some  of  them  in  the  post-office. 
"Anything  for  Horatio  B.  Stacy  ?  "  he  asked  at 
the  window  in  a  high  voice.  Then  they  noticed 
him  excitedly  tear  open  the  one  letter  he  had 
received  and,  as  he  ran  over  the  contents,  he 
said  excitedly,  in  a  voice  loud  enough  to  be 
heard,  "Just  in  time — just,"  but  at  that  point 
he  seemed  to  notice  that  he  was  being  observed. 
His  dazed  expression  was  a  curious  mixture  of 
surprise  and,  perhaps,  pleasure. 

Then  he  came  in  late  to  his  recitation  at  three 
o'clock  and  seemed  to  be  barely  able  to  keep  his 
attention  on  the  work,  and  now  and  then  he 
would  look  up  and  smile  and  stare  at  them  in 
an  indescribably  queer  way7.  And  in  the  midst 
of  the  next  recitation  he  suddenly  arose  and, 
motioning  the  young  man  that  was  reciting  to 
take  his  seat,  he  said,  in  a  husky  voice,  "  Here, 
stop !  the  class  will  please  excuse  me,"  and  bow 
ing  politely,  even  grandly,  he  hurried  out  of  the 
room,  not  seeming  to  care  that  his  pupils  had 
not  got  their  money's  worth.  The  little  tutor 
was  not  himself. 

At  half -past  seven  o'clock  that  evening  he 
came  promptly  to  the  faculty  meeting  and 
quietly  took  his  customary  seat  by  the  door. 

233 


The  Little  Tutor 


None  of  the  faculty  were  aware  of  anything  un 
usual  until  after  they  had  transacted  the  ordi 
nary  business  and  had  decided  one  or  two  cases 
that  came  up,  and  the  president  had  arisen,  as 
usual,  and  said,  in  his  clear  tones,  "  Gentlemen 
of  the  faculty,  is  there  further  business  of  any 
nature  to  come  before  this  meeting  ?  "  and  the 
white-headed  old  professor  as  usual  had  turned 
his  head  sedately  around  to  see  if  there  was  any 
thing,  and  then  settled  down  in  his  chair  again 
with  his  disappointed  look,  as  was  his  custom. 
At  this  point  the  little  tutor  arose. 

No  one  saw  him  at  first,  and  the  president  was 
beginning  to  say  "  Then  the  meeting  stands  ad 
journed,"  but  before  he  reached  the  last  word 
the  little  tutor  cleared  his  throat  with  a  loud, 
forced  sound,  which  made  them  all,  young  and 
old,  turn  their  eyes  upon  him.  He  was  smiling, 
they  thought. 

"  I  think  it  is  about  time  for  me  to  speak,"  he 
said,  in  his  high  voice,  with  a  little  nervous  tre 
mor  in  it. 

He  was  vaguely  conscious  of  this,  and,  also, 
of  the  light  of  the  lamp  reflected  upon  the  black 
board  back  of  the  President's  head.  Then  he 
buttoned  up  his  little  cut-away  coat  and  began 
the  speech  he  had  practised  in  his  room.  He 
spoke  slowly  and,  apparently,  very  coolly,  and 

234 


The  Little  Tutor 


in  a  deep  voice  which  he  always  assumed  in  de 
livering  his  orations. 

"  You  are  probably  aware,  as  I  am,  that  in  the 
wording  of  the  letter  by  which  I  was  engaged  to 
serve  as  Professor  "Wilkins's  assistant  in  your 
academy,  there  was  no  clause  which  specifies  the 
length  of  time  for  which  I  was  to  serve  in  that 
capacity.  This  is  the  case,  is  it  not?  A  purely 
temporary  arrangement,  so  that,  in  case  I  proved 
unsatisfactory  " — he  tried  to  imitate  the  Presi 
dent's  pronunciation  of  this  word — "  I  need  not 
be  retained  the  entire  year. 

"  I  have  been  here  one  month,"  he  said,  with 
impressiveness.  He  paused  a  moment,  and  then 
assuming  a  smile  which  he  thought  was  like  one 
of  his  old  classmates,  he  concluded  :  "  I  appre 
ciate  the  delicacy  of  your  position,  and  will  re 
lieve  you  of  the  disagreeable  duty — a  duty  from 
which  you  have  been  restrained  by  your  very 
kind  and  thoughtful  appreciation  for  my  feel 
ings — by  voluntarily  offering  my  resignation." 

The  little  tutor  walked  bravely  over  to  the 
desk  and  bowing  low  laid  a  carefully  written 
sheet  of  paper  on  the  desk,  thereby  purposely 
allowing  an  opportunity  for  expression  of  opin 
ion.  But  he  had  crossed  the  room  and  reached 
his  place  before  anyone  began  to  speak ;  at  first 
it  seemed  as  if  nothing  was  going  to  be  said  on 

235 


The  Little  Tutor 


their  part.  Then  the  President  at  last  made 
answer,  speaking  very  deliberately,  it  seemed  to 
Stacy : 

"  Well,  Mr.  Stacy,  this  is  very  sudden ;  very 
unexpected.  We  are  surprised.  Believe  me, 
Mr,  Stacy,  in  case  the  performance  of  your  du 
ties  had  not  been  satisfactory,  we  would  have 
advised  you." 

The  little  tutor  believed  him. 

"Furthermore,  your  work  has  been  entirely 
satisfactory,  has  it  not,  Professor  Thorne  ?  " 

"  Entirely,"  echoed  Professor  Thorne,  across 
the  room. 

The  little  tutor  was  baffled  by  the  tones  of 
the  President.  He  thought  they  belied  his 
words.  Nobody  seemed  to  be  impressed  as  he 
had  expected. 

"  It  is  my  intention  to  leave  to-morrow !  "  he 
exclaimed,  excitedly,  making  an  emphatic  gesture 
with  his  hand. 

"  Surely,  Mr.  Stacy,  you  are  laboring  under 
some  wrong  impression.  Surely,  there  is  some 
misunderstanding.  You  are  a  little  excited,  Mr. 
Stacy.  Perhaps  you  are  a  little  overworked. 
You  had  better  think  it  over  before  you  make 
up  your  mind  permanently." 

Professor  Thorne  here  spoke  up  :  "  Don't  you 
think,  Mr.  Stacy,  that  it  would  be  a  little  un- 

236 


The  Little  Tutor 


wise  on  your  own  account.  Pardon  me,  Mr. 
Stacy,  but  I  understand  your  circumstances,  and 
it  would  be  rather  late  in  the  year  to  obtain  an 
other  position  now." 

The  President  was  about  to  say  something 
further,  but  as  he  turned  he  saw  on  the  young 
man's  face  a  look  as  of  a  weak  animal  at  bay; 
and  he  stopped. 

"  Don't  you  know  why  I'm  leaving  this  place  ? 
I'll  tell  you,"  he  exclaimed,  excitedly ;  all  his 
oratorical  manner  and  assumed  grandiloquence 
Avas  forgotten  with  the  rest  of  his  speech.  He 
almost  screamed  in  his  natural  voice,  "  I'll  tell 
you,  I  HATE  you  —  all,  every  one."  He  swept 
his  hand  wildly  around  the  circle,  "From  the 
oldest,  gray-haired  D.D.  to  those  two  conceited 
young  assistants,  you  cold,  intellectual,  cultured, 
bloodless,  unemotional,  self-satisfied  creatures 
— I  HATE  YOU.  Of  course  you  don't  care  ;  you 
won't  lose  anything  by  my  hate."  He  paused  a 
moment,  buttoned  up  his  little  coat  and  began 
again,  the  words  pouring  out  of  themselves  :  "  I 
know  I'm  nobody  ;  I  know  I'm  not  attractive,  or 
cultured,  but  I'm  a  human  being  —  if  I'm  not 
from  New  England — and  I  have  a  human  heart. 
I  have  been  here  a  whole  month,  and  in  that 
time  what  one  of  you  has  made  a  friendly  ad 
vance  ? — has  spoken  a  word  of  encouragement  ? 

237 


The  Little  Tutor 


— has  even  taken  note  of  my  existence,  except  as 
a  machine  paid  to  do  a  certain  amount  of  work  ? 
I  found  that  out  that  first  day  in  chapel  when 
your  President  told  you  all  of  the  bargain  he 
had  made.  He  assured  you  that  you  were  not 
cheated,  as  the  article  rented  had  had  a  good 
standing  in  his  class.  I  wondered  at  the  time  he 
did  not,  in  naming  my  good  points  like  a  horse, 
mention  my  college  instead  of  saying  a  good 
Eastern  college — that's  what  I  can't  stand.  I 
could  endure  the  treatment  of  myself,  but  those 
slurs  on  my  college  I  cannot  and  will  not  stand. 
Stop !  Don't  get  excited ;  don't  try  to  explain 
anything.  You  don't  want  me  to  go,  because 
you  think  you  have  a  good,  hard-working  horse. 
You  think  to  detain  me  by  informing  me  of  my 
poverty.  That  might  do,  but — but  read  that !  " 
He  snatched  from  his  pocket  the  letter  he  had 
received  that  morning. 

"  Read  that  !  "  and  he  started  toward  the  desk 
with  the  letter  in  his  hand.  But  the  strain  was 
too  much  for  the  little  tutor.  He  fainted  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life. 


He  never  found  out  whether  they  read  the 
letter  or  not.  Of  course,  he  could  have  ascer 
tained  by  writing  out  there,  but  he  never  did. 

238 


The  Little  Tutor 


Indeed,  he  did  not  like  to  think  of  that  time 
now,  though  he  did  love  to  take  out  a  certain 
letter  with  a  printed  head  at  the  top  and  read 
the  formal  language  which  stated  briefly  how 
that,  owing  to  the  fact  that  Mr.  Charles  Benja 
min  Howard  had  decided,  etc.,  "  the  fellow 
ship  in,  etc.,  was  open  to  Horatio  B.  Stacy  as 
being,  etc.,  and  that  it  was  with  a  great  deal 
of  pleasure " — but  he  knew  it  all  by  heart, 
because  he  had  intended  to  repeat  it  once  on  a 
certain  awful  occasion  when  he  was,  he  thought, 
temporarily  insane,  at  least  not  Horatio  B. 
Stacy. 


COLLEGE   MEN 


COLLEGE   MEN 

*'  Johnnie,  Johnnie,  Dagnan, 
Johnnie,  Johnnie,  Dagnan, 
Do  you  want  me  ? 
No,  sir-r  ee, 
Not  this  afternoon,  'ternoon,  'ternoon,  'ternoon." 

THAT  is  what  a  crowd  of  noisy,  lazy,  slouchy- 
lookiug  fellows,  in  a  circle  in  front  of  Ee- 
union  were  singing  to  a  little,  old,  dried-up  man, 
with  a  plaintive  face  and  blue  uniform,  in  the 
centre  of  it. 

John  Dagnan,  chief  of  college  police  and  en 
voy  extraordinary  to  the  faculty,  cast  a  sad  re 
proachful  glance  at  two  of  the  number  to  whom 
he  had  borne  many  a  summons  to  appear  at 
one  o'clock,  and  then  relapsed  into  his  char 
acteristic  melancholy  silence,  gazing  inscrutably 
into  the  distance. 

Over  by  the  elm  in  front  of  the  Princetonian 
Office  were  four  seniors  pitching  pennies  and 
looking  very  much  in  earnest  over  it.  Up  and 
down  in  front  of  the  shambling  old  building 

243 


College  Men 


two  or  three  base-balls  were  flying  back  and 
forth  over  or  against  the  heads  of  the  loafers 
and  passers-by.  Several  other  groups  were 
merely  sitting  on  the  steps  or  standing  on  the 
stone  walks,  talking  or  whistling  or  waiting  for 
nothing. 

The  steps  in  front  of  the  entry  door  were  so 
crowded  that  young  Symington,  following  his 
friend  Tucker,  had  to  tread  upon  some  of  the 
loungers  to  get  inside.  But  the  loungers  were 
used  to  that  and  did  not  stop  their  conversation. 
It's  easier  than  arising. 

Symington  would  have  liked  to  stop  and 
watch  the  fellows  pitching  peonies,  and  hear 
more  of  the  song,  and  see  what  the  little  police 
man  was  going  to  do  about  it,  but  he  did  not 
say  a  word.  He  merely  followed  Tucker  up 
to  his  room  and  wondered  why  he  failed  to  no 
tice  it. 

Charlie  Symington  was  a  well-built  prep,  boy 
who  had  been  known  to  strike  out  three  men 
with  the  bases  full.  He  had  been  invited  to 
spend  Sunday  in  Princeton  by  some  important 
athletic  men  in  order  that  he  might  see  how 
much  better  their  college  was  than  all  others 
in  the  world.  This  was  because  Charles  was 
young  and  foolish  and  had  shown  signs  of  shift 
ing  his  youthful  affections  and  his  future  ath- 

244 


College  Men 


letic  brilliance  to  that  other  college  where  two 
of  his  intimate  friends  were  going,  and  which 
had  brilliance  enough  already. 

These  athletic  officials  thought  that  this  would 
be  narrow-minded  in  him,  and  they  were  giving 
him  a  very  good  time.  The  way  they  did  it 
was  not  by  treating  him  as  a  distinguished 
guest  or  by  telling  him  what  a  fine  fellow  he 
was,  which  would  have  turned  the  little  boy's 
head  and  have  made  him  think  he  could  do 
as  he  pleased.  They  simply  said  "  Come," 
and  when  he  came,  let  him  walk  around  with 
them. 

For  they  were  a  right  conceited  lot  in  regard 
to  their  college,  and  thought  that  all  they  had 
to  do  was  put  a  boy  on  the  campus,  let  him  use 
his  eyes  and  breathe  the  air  and  get  it  in  his 
young  system,  and  his  good  sense  would  do  the 
rest.  If  it  did  not,  his  sense  was  not  good  and 
they  did  not  want  him,  thought  they. 

As  for  the  young  pitcher,  he  did  not  quite 
understand  why  these  great  and  awful  men 
whom  he  had  often  heard  of  were  so  kind  to 
him,  and  he  did  not  care.  He  only  opened  his 
eyes  and  ears  and  shut  his  mouth,  and  let  his 
friends  do  whatever  they  wanted  with  him  and 
thought  it  was  very  nice  in  them. 

And  that  is  all  I  am  going  to  tell  of ;  what 

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College  Men 


Symington  the  prep,  drank  in  with  his  eyes  and 
ears  open  and  his  mouth  closed.  Nothing  will 
happen. 

A  lame  arm  had  laid  him  off  his  team  for 
the  usual  Saturday  game,  so  he  had  arrived 
in  Princeton  this  afternoon  in  time  to  see  the 
'varsity  play  with  a  small  college  nine.  He 
watched  the  game  critically  and  closely,  and 
passed  judgment  on  each  player — under  his 
breath. 

He  knew  the  initials,  age,  class,  and  previous 
history  of  every  man  on  the  team,  and  he  could 
have  told  you  just  what  each  one  did  and  did 
not  in  the  seventh  inning  of  the  Yale  game 
two  years  before.  In  regard  to  the  important 
games  previous  to  that  he  was  somewhat  hazy. 
He  was  only  sure  of  the  scores  by  innings,  the 
total  base  hits,  and  the  errors,  though  he  hated 
to  confess  it. 

Tucker,  the  Base-ball  president,  had  honored 
him  to  the  extent  of  allowing  him  to  sit  on  the 
bench  under  the  canopy  with  the  team.  Here 
was  a  splendid  opportunity  of  gazing  upon  their 
faces  at  close  range.  Once  when  the  third 
baseman  came  in  breathless  from  a  home  run, 
with  perspiration  running  down  his  face,  he 
tripped  on  Symington's  toe  and  said  to  him  in 
a  loud  tone,  in  order  to  be  heard  above  the 

246 


College  Men 


applause,  "Pardon  me,  Symington,"  which  Char 
lie  did. 

After  the  game,  which  was  of  the  subdued, 
half -holiday  recreation  sort,  good  to  bring  either 
a  pipe  or  a  girl  to,  without  fear  of  putting 
either  out  by  inattention,  Tucker,  the  president, 
brought  him  up  the  street  and  through  the 
noisy  quadrangle  to  Reunion  Hall  where  he 
now  was  ascending  the  stairs. 

Tucker  opened  the  door  and  picked  up  a 
dozen  or  more  letters  from  the  floor  and  said, 
"  Sit  down,  Charlie,"  and  began  to  assort  them. 

But  he  said  "  Sit  down  Charlie  "  in  an  absent- 
minded  tone,  and  Charlie  knew  that,  and  so  he 
looked  about  the  room  instead.  He  thought 
this  was  the  kind  of  a  room  a  college  man  ought 
to  have.  He  gazed  at  everything  in  it  from  the 
oar  of  the  last  Princeton  crew  (which  must  have 
rowed  in  triremes — there  are  two  hundred  and 
nine  of  those  oars)  to  the  small  photograph  of 
a  girl's  face  in  a  dainty  little  figured  blue  silk 
frame,  all  alone  over  Tucker's  desk.  That  was 
the  first  thing  he  had  discovered  of  which  lie 
could  not  approve.  It  grieved  him  to  be  ob 
liged  to  think  that  of  Tucker.  He  seemed  such 
a  fine  fellow,  too. 

Just  then  Mercer,  the  treasurer,  came  in  with 
his  rattling  tin-box,  and  talked  business  with 

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College  Men 


Tucker,  who  nodded  liis  head  and  kept  on  open 
ing  and  glancing  through  letters. 

Symington  tried  not  to  listen,  but  he  couldn't 
help  hearing,  so  he  got  up  again  and  went  to 
the  window.  A  great  lot  of  racket  was  going 
on  in  the  quadrangle  below.  Somebody  had 
thrown  some  water  out  of  a  window  at  some 
body  else,  and  now  they  were  trying  to  throw 
stones  back  without  breaking  glass,  which  was 
hard  to  do.  Everyone  was  shouting  or  yelling, 
or  both,  and  it  was  echoing  from  Old  North 
and  College  Offices.  This  is  called  Horse. 

It  interrupted  Tucker  so  that  he  had  to  raise 
his  voice  and  repeat  several  times  what  he  said 
to  Mercer.  Finally  the  voices  became  louder 
than  he  liked.  Stepping  across  the  room  in  a 
matter-of-fact  way  with  an  open  letter  in  his 
other  hand,  he  threw  down  the  window  from  the 
top,  with  a  shrill  squeak,  and  said,  in  a  casual 
tone,  "  Ah,  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  be  just  a 
little  bit  more  quiet  down  there.  You're  getting 
a  trifle  too  noisy.  There,  that's  better,"  and 
went  on  with  his  sentence  to  Mercer,  who  an 
swered,  "  That's  so.  Shall  I  wire  him  about 
it  ?  "  The  racket  had  suddenly  subsided. 

Symington  the  prep,  sat  down  and  looked  at 
Tucker.  But  the  senior  changed  his  expression 
no  more  than  when  he  knocked  the  ashes  out  of 

248 


College  Men 


his  pipe.  Charles  asked  no  questions  because 
he  was  not  that  kind  of  a  prep.,  but  he  arose, 
went  to  the  window  again  and  looked  at  the 
horse  -  players.  Then  he  looked  at  Tucker 
once  more.  Most  of  them  were  bigger  than 
Tucker. 

They  acted  as  if  nothing  unusual  had  taken 
place.  They  were  laughing  now  at  something 
else,  only  it  was  quiet  laughter.  They  were 
under-classmen. 

The  two  athletic  officers  were  busy  now,  the 
president  talking  very  rapidly  and  seriously, 
and  the  treasurer  listening  intently.  Syming 
ton,  the  prep.,  gazed  out  of  the  window  as  on 
ly  preps,  can  gaze.  He  found  it  interesting 
enough, 

It  was  that  hour  of  the  day  when  the  under 
graduate  leaves  whatever  has  been  occupying 
his  attention,  and  thrusts  his  hands  deep  into 
his  pockets,  and  heads  for  the  spot  in  town 
where  he  feels  like  going  three  times  every  day. 
There  were  dozens  of  them  in  sight  doing  it 
now. 

The  prep,  thought  it  odd,  the  way  some  of 
them  stood  still  out  in  the  middle  of  the  cam 
pus,  and  with  their  eyes  turned  toward  an  upper 
story  of  one  of  the  buildings  yelled,  "  Hello-o, 
Sam,  going  down  to  grub  ?  "  or  beseechingly, 

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College  Men 


11  Please  shake  it  up,"  or  commandingly,  "Get 
a  move  up  there !  "  He  liked  it  though. 

He  could  hear  footsteps  rumbling  down  the 
entry  stairs,  then  the  door  slam,  and  then  the 
man  himself  would,  emerge  in  sight.  He  saw 
them  coming  out  of  North,  too,  and  from  West, 
and  he  could  make  out  others,  way  over  by  East 
College.  Many  of  them  headed  toward  Nassau 
Street.  Some  set  out  in  the  direction  of  the 
Chapel.  Others  turned  toward  the  Gymnasium. 
Nearly  all  of  them  whistled  or  made  a  noise 
of  some  sort  as  they  went  along. 

One  fellow,  a  tremendous  man,  was  stalking 
by  with  his  head  thrown  back,  singing  at  the 
top  of  his  voice.  But  the  funny  part  of  it  to 
Symington  was  that  the  big  fellow's  face  seemed 
utterly  unconscious  of  whether  any  one  was 
around  to  see  him  or  not.  He  was  all  alone, 
and  he  seemed  to  be  having  a  quiet,  comforta 
ble  time  of  it. 

When  the  clock  tolled  six  Tucker  arose  and 
said,  "  Now  we'll  go  and  get  some  dinner,  Char 
lie — Pat,  Symington  and  I  dine  at  the  Athletic 
Club  this  evening.  We'll  see  you  later."  Pat 
was  Mercer's  right  name. 

Symington  was  glad  to  hear  that  he  was  to 
dine  at  the  Athletic  Club  this  evening.  He  had 
read  all  about  this  affair,  and  had  seen  pictures 

250 


College  Men 


of  it  in  Harper  s  Weekly.  But  he  listened  at 
tentively  to  all  Tucker  had  to  say  on  the  way 
down. 

His  friend  opened  the  heavy  oaken  door  with 
a  small  flat  key,  explaining  that  it  was  necessary 
to  keep  the  doors  locked  because  the  mob  would 
otherwise  make  themselves  at  home  in  there. 
"  You  see,  Charlie,"  he  said,  "  although  this  is 
the  training-quarters  it  is  a  private  club,  and 
not  a  public  affair  like  the  field-house  we  were 
in  this  afternoon.  But  the  membership  is  open 
to  every  one  for  competition.  When  you  come 
to  college,  if  you  make  the  team,  you  will  be  a 
member  as  long  as  you  are  training  with  it.  If 
you  become  a  captain  or  get  any  of  the  Athletic 
offices  you'll  be  a  life  member." 

But  Symington  the  prep,  was  not  listening 
to  that.  When  the  door  opened  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  big  brick  fireplace  with  tiling 
over  it,  on  which  was  inscribed  "  Oranje  Boven," 
and  higher  up  were  footballs  hung  in  clusters 
with  scores  painted  upon  them,  and  all  about 
the  wainscoted  walls  of  the  hallway  were  base 
ball  and  football  and  lacrosse  championship 
banners  with  gilt  lettering.  That's  what  he 
was  paying  attention  to. 

"  Yes,  leave  your  cap  there,  any  place.  Now 
I  want  to  see  what  you're  good  for  in  this  line. 

25L 


College  Men 


We'll  go  over  the  house  afterward."  Tucker  led 
the  way  toward  the  sound  of  knives  and  forks. 

Now  it  should  be  understood  that  Symington, 
the  head  man  of  the  school,  was  not  afraid  of 
anything  on  earth,  and  if  he  were  dining  at 
Prospect  with  the  President  of  the  University,  it 
would  not  have  mattered.  But  to  walk  straight 
into  a  room  and  be  introduced  to  the  captain  of 
the  team  was  a  little  too  much.  It  took  his  ap 
petite  away  at  first,  and  he  thought  he  could  eat 
none  of  that  famous  training  food  of  which  he 
had  heard.  However,  the  shock  soon  passed. 

He  was  presented  to  all  the  members  of  the 
nine,  and  to  the  subs  and  to  the  trainer,  and  also 
to  two  professional  pitchers  from  the  Brooklyn 
League  team,  who  were  down  to  coach  the  play 
ers,  and  who  were  just  now  eating  with  their 
knives  a  huge  meal  at  a  little  side-table. 

Symington  was  given  a  seat  next  to  Jack,  the 
trainer,  who  was  cordial  and  kind  to  him,  and 
said,  "  Oh,  me  boy,  you  must  eat  more  than  that." 

The  meal  seemed  to  be  a  very  business-like  af 
fair.  The  men  were  brown  from  their  exercise 
in  the  sun,  and  ruddy  and  glowing  from  their 
recent  rub  down,  and  hungry  from  both  causes, 
and  they  devoured  great  sections  of  rare  beef 
as  though  they  knew  it  was  their  duty  to  get 
strong  for  Old  Nassau. 

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College  Men 


The  conversation  was  quite  shoppy.  When 
he  had  finished,  the  captain  pushed  back  his 
chair  from  the  table  and  said,  "Fellows,  you 
played  a  pretty  good  game  to-day.  But  we've 
got  to  brace  up  in  team  work.  When  a  man's 
on  a  base  we  must  simply  push  him  the  rest  of 
the  way  around." 

As  soon  as  dessert  was  finished,  Tucker  said, 
"  I  want  to  smoke.  Let's  start  up  for  the  sing 
ing,  Charlie." 

Symington  would  have  liked  to  explore  the 
rest  of  the  club-house,  though  of  course  he  did 
not  say  so.  He  did  not  even  ask  what  the  sing 
ing  meant.  But  as  they  arose  to  leave  the  table 
he  did  ask  a  question  about  one  of  the  portraits 
of  the  ancient  and  modern  athletic  heroes  which 
line  the  walls. 

"  Yes,  Charlie,"  said  Tucker,  "  that's  he." 

"I  remember  just  how  he  looked  when  he 
made  that  long,  low  drive,  that  time,  in  the  ninth 
inning,"  Symington  said,  solemnly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tucker,  briefly,  "  a  great  many  of 
us  will  always  remember  his  long,  low  drives. 
Here  is  your  cap." 

This  was  in  reference  to  a  large  portrait  at  the 
end  of  the  room.  The  frame  had  a  deep  black 
border. 

Tucker  and  his  friend,  the  other  fellow,  the 


College  Men 


University  treasurer,  whose  name  the  prep,  had 
forgotten,  waited  until  entirely  out  of  the  house 
before  lighting  their  pipes. 

Two  or  three  of  the  team  joined  Tucker  and 
Symington  and  the  University  treasurer.  The 
prep,  felt  that  one  of  them  was  coming  up 
beside  him.  He  waited  a  moment  and  then 
glanced  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.  He 
caught  his  breath,  but  did  not  fall  down.  It 
was  the  captain  of  the  'varsity  nine. 

It's  a  very  fine  thing  to  be  head  man  of  your 
school  and  pitcher  on  your  team,  but  oh,  if  the 
school  could  see  him  now  ! 

"  How  do  you  like  our  club  ?  "  asked  the 
captain  in  a  voice  something  like  other  men's. 

"  I  like  the  club,"  said  Symington. 

"Yes,  we  think  it's  a  pretty  comfortable 
place.  Come  down  to-morrow  and  we'll  show 
you  the  Trophy-room  and  all."  Then  he  began 
to  question  him  about  his  team  at  school. 

To  Symington's  surprise  and  delight  the 
captain  seemed  to  know  the  score  of  all  the  im 
portant  games  they  had  played  and  how  many 
— or  how  few — base  hits  had  been  gained  in 
each  one  off  him,  Charles  Symington.  And  he 
can  tell  you  to  this  day  every  word  of  the  con 
versation  and  at  what  point  of  the  walk  it  was 
when  the  captain  said,  "  Well,  you  are  pitching 

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College  Men 


pretty  good  ball  this  year.  This  is  McCosh 
walk.  Look  at  those  trees." 

"  Yes,"  said  Symington. 

The  soft  evening  light  was  sifting  down 
through  the  interlacing  branches,  making  a 
glow  to  dream  about,  which  Symington  did  not 
notice.  He  had  no  time  to  waste  at  present. 

They  passed  between  Chapel  and  Murray 
Hall  and  across  back  of  West  toward  North. 
Just  as  they  reached  Old  Chapel  strange  notes  of 
music  broke  in  on  the  prep.'s  ears.  At  first  he 
could  not  make  up  his  mind  whether  it  was 
vocal  or  instrumental,  or  whether  it  was  real  at 
all,  in  fact,  or  part  of  a  dream  like  everything 
else  perhaps.  The  seniors  were  singing,  and 
from  that  part  of  the  campus  it  echoes  oddly,  as 
you  doubtless  know. 

When  they  turned  the  corner  and  were  on  the 
front  campus  a  wonderful  sight  met  the  prep.'s 
eyes.  On  the  steps  of  Old  North,  and  spilling 
over  upon  the  stone  walks  in  front  and  filling  up 
the  window  casements  on  either  side,  was  the 
senior  class  in  duck  trousers  and  careless  atti 
tudes  with  the  dark  green  of  many  class-ivies 
for  a  background  and  the  mellow  brown  wall  of 
the  ancient  pile  showing  through  in  places. 
Most  of  the  fellows  had  an  arm  about  one  or 
two  others. 

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One  of  the  number  was  standing  up  in  front 
beating  time  with  a  folded  Princetonian.  They 
were  singing  a  dear  old  song  called  "Annie 
Lyle."  Their  voices  came  rich  and  sweet  in 
the  twilight  air. 

Under  the  wide  elms  were  the  rest  of  the  col 
lege.  Also  the  poor  post-graduates  and  some  of 
the  faculty's  families  and  the  little  muckers,  and 
even  a  few  seminary  students  from  over  the  way. 
But  only  the  undergraduates  seemed  becoming 
to  the  scene.  The  others  rather  spoiled  the 
effect. 

Some  of  the  fellows  were  sprawled  out  flat  on 
their  backs  looking  up  through  the  tree-tops  at 
the  fading  blue.  Some  rested  their  heads  on 
each  other  and  got  all  mixed  up  so  that  no  one 
could  tell  which  were  his  own  legs.  Others  were 
strolling  about  or  looking  at  the  strangers  who 
came  to  spend  Sunday  or  to  see  the  game.  A 
few  were  passing  tennis-balls  and  being  cursed 
by  the  rest.  All  of  them  wore  neglige  clothes  or 
worse. 

The  captain  said  he  did  not  feel  like  singing 
and  led  Symington  across  in  front  of  the  sen 
iors  and  made  him  sit  down  beside  him  on  the 
grass.  This  was  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  Uni 
versity. 

Symington  was   quite   near  the  men   on  the 

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steps.  He  looked  them  over  and  tried  to  catch 
the  joke  they  were  all  laughing  at  now  the  song 
was  finished.  He  thought  it  would  be  a  right 
fine  thing  to  sit  up  there  and  sing  to  a  college. 
And  he  made  up  his  mind  that  if  he  ever  did  it 
he  would  climb  up  on  top  of  one  of  the  lion's 
heads  like  that  little  short  fellow  with  the  long- 
pipe. 

After  singing  "  Kumski  Ho  "  in  long,  measured 
cadence,  and  other  good  old  things  and  several 
new  ones,  some  one  on  the  steps  began  shouting, 
"  Brown  !  Brown !  "  Several  voices  said,  in  con 
cert,  "  We  mmt  have  Brown."  Out  in  the  crowd 
they  began  crying,  "  Eight !  Brown.  We  want 
Brown  !  We  must  have  Brown  !  " 

Three  seniors  lay  hold  of  one  senior  and  lifted 
him  to  his  feet.  Symington  could  hear  him  say 
ing,  "  Don't,  don't.  I'm  a  chestnut.  They  won't 
listen  to  me  any  more.  Please  don't  make  a 
fool  of  me,  fellows."  But  he  was  made  to  stand 
out  in  front  and  sing  a  solo. 

While  this  w*as  going  on  the  rest  of  the  college 
jumped  up  from  their  places  and  pressed  up  into 
a  close  semicircle  about  the  steps.  Symington 
and  the  captain  had  to  arise  to  keep  from  being 
trampled  on. 

When  Brown  finished  his  solo  he  was  ap 
plauded  so  much  that  he  had  to  sing  another, 

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College  Men 


and  Symington  made  up  his  mind  that  next  to 
being  the  captain  he  would  most  like  to  be 
Brown. 

Then  the  crowd  called  for  "  Timber,"  and  a 
man  got  up  who  had  the  queerest  face  Syming 
ton  ever  saw.  He  looked  as  if  he  were  trying 
with  all  his  might  to  look  serious  and  would 
never  succeed.  Everyone  began  to  laugh  the 
moment  Timberly  stood  up,  especially  his  own 
classmates.  And  when  he  began  to  sing  his 
comic  ballad  they  laughed  still  more. 

When  he  finished,  the  audience  clapped  their 
hands  and  yelled.  A  crowd  of  juniors  gave  the 
college  cheer  and  ended  with  the  words  "  Tim 
berly  's  Solo."  In  some  respects  Symington 
liked  Timberly  more  than  Brown. 

When  Timberly  at  last,  looking  sad,  sat  down, 
Symington  heard  several  voices  saying  "  Every 
body  up."  Those  on  the  ground  arose,  and 
those  in  the  windows  jumped  down.  Syming 
ton  got  up  too,  though  he  did  not  know  why, 
and  took  off  his  cap  when  he  saw  the  captain 
do  it. 

It  was  late  twilight.  The  campus  was  becom 
ing  dusky.  The  faces  were  dim.  The  ball- 
throwing  had  ceased,  and  the  little  muckers  had 
left.  The  elms  were  sighing  softly  overhead 
in  a  patriarchal  sort  of  way.  Symington 

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College  Men 


thought  everyone  seemed  more  quiet  and  sol 
emn  than  they  were  before.  Perhaps  he  only 
imagined  it. 

Then,  with  all  the  seniors  on  their  feet,  with 
their  heads  uncovered,  the  leader  waved  his 
white  baton,  and  over  one  hundred  voices  sang 
"  Tune  every  heart  and  every  voice,  Bid  every 
care  withdraw,"  and  the  rest  of  the  college 
hymn. 

Many  of  the  audience  joined  in,  and  nobody 
thought  it  fresh  in  them  ;  and  Symington  would 
have  liked  to  join  in  too,  only  he  did  not  know 
how.  He  felt  very  queer  for  some  reason,  and 
forgot  who  was  standing  beside  him  for  a  mo 
ment.  The  poetry  of  the  scene  was  getting  into 
him.  He  didn't  know  that,  of  course,  but  he 
had  a  vague  feeling  that  this  was  living,  and 
that  it  was  good  for  him  to  be  there. 

When  the  hymn  was  finished  the  class  cheered 
for  itself  and  for  the  college,  and  for  itself  again ; 
and  the  senior  singing  was  over. 

From  ah1  over  the  front  campus  there  sudden 
ly  broke  out  in  many  loud  discordant  keys, 
"Hello,  Billy  Minot "  and  "Hello,  Jimmy  Lin- 
ton  "  and  "  hello "  Johnnys  and  Harrys  and 
Eeddys  and  Dicks,  and  Drunks,  and  Deans, 
and  Fathers,  and  Mables  and  horses  and  dogs 
and  houses  and  others.  As  each  found  the 

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College  Men 


man  he  wanted,  an  arm  or  two  was  thrown 
about  a  neck  or  two,  and  they  started  off  for 
some  other  part  of  the  campus  or  town. 

The  captain  had  also  helloed  for  someone. 
Symington  was  left  alone  for  a  moment.  But 
he  was  not  exactly  alone.  He  listened  to  the 
scraps  of  talk  as  the  fellows  moved  past.  "  Pret 
ty  good  singing  this  evening.  .  .  .  Get  to 
work  now.  .  .  .  AtDohm's.  .  .  .  I  told 
him  to  come  up.  .  .  .  New  York  to  get  ad 
vertisements.  .  .  .  The  Trigonometry.  .  .  . 
Trials  for  the  Gun  Club.  .  .  .  Princetonian 
Subscriptions  now.  .  .  .  The  mandolin  to 
some  girls  that  came  to  see  the  game  with  him. 
.  .  .  You  damn  sour  ball."  Some  of  them 
were  humming  the  last  notes  of  the  song.  Oth 
ers  were  saying  nothing. 

A  loud  clear  voice  beside  him  called  "  Hello, 
Charlie  Symington."  It  was  Tucker  looking 
for  him  in  the  dusk,  and  he  called  him  just  as 
they  called  to  college  men.  Symington  was  to 
meet  the  captain  again  later  on.  Tucker  put 
his  arm  about  Charlie's  shoulders  as  they 
stepped  along  toward  Reunion.  Perhaps  he 
did  it  unconsciously. 

"  You  can  amuse  yourself  with  these,"  said 
Tucker,  tossing  into  Charlie's  lap  a  copy  of  the 
Bric-a-Brac,  which  he  had  read  long  ago  at 

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College  Men 


school,  and  a  lot  of  photographs.  "  And  if  you 
want  a  nap,"  he  added  "just  read  that."  He 
threw  across  the  room  the  last  number  of  the 
Nassau  Lit.  That's  a  very  old  joke. 

Tucker  then  turned  to  his  desk  and  got  to 
work  over  something.  Symington  did  not  know 
what  it  was,  and  of  course  did  not  ask.  But  it 
was  not  fifteen  minutes  before  "  Hello-o,  Tommy 
Tucker  "  came  in  a  loud  voice  from  the  quad, 
below.  Tucker  frowned  and  did  not  look  up. 

Then  it  came  again,  with  a  sharper  accent  on 
the  second  syllable,  "  Helloo,  Tommy  Tucker." 

"  Hello,"  Tucker  replied,  shortly. 

"  Are  you  up  there  ?  " 

"No,  I'm  down  at  the  'varsity  grounds  run 
ning  around  the  track." 

"  You  busy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Ted,  I  am.     Don't  come  up." 

"  All  right."  Then  a  whistled  tune  began, 
and  the  shuffling  of  a  pair  of  feet  along  the 
walk.  Gradually  they  faded  and  mingled  with 
other  whistling  and  feet  scraping. 

While  Symington  was  thinking  this  over  he 
heard  another  voice  calling  for  someone  else, 
and  when  a  muffled  response  came  back,  the 
clear,  outside  voice  said,  "  Stick  your  head  out ! " 
He  heard  a  window  lowered  and  the  inside 
voice  say  "  Well  ?  " 

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College  Men 


11  Stick  it  in  again." 

The  window  slammed  and  the  man  below 
went  on  down  to  Dohm's,  whistling  softly  to 
himself. 

Symington,  the  prep.,  thought  that  was  very 
funny  and  laughed  aloud,  and  hoped  he  did  not 
disturb  his  host  by  so  doing. 

Presently  someone  else  yelled  for  Tucker,  and 
when  he  replied,  "  Yes,  of  course,  I'm  busy,"  the 
man  below  called  back,  "  Too  bad,"  and  the  en 
try  stairs  began  to  clatter.  In  a  moment  a 
broad  smile  and  a  pair  of  clean  duck  trousers 
burst  into  the  room. 

"  Timberly,"  said  Tucker,  smiling  in  spite  of 
himself,  "  I  thought  I  told  you  not  to  come  up 
here  this  evening." 

"  I  believe  you  did.  That's  so."  Timberly 
was  trying  to  look  serious.  Then  brightening 
up  at  the  sight  of  Symington  as  if  remembering 
something.  "  But  you  see,"  he  said,  "  I  wanted 
to  meet  the  pitcher."  Tucker  grinned  and  in 
troduced  them. 

Timberly  shook  Symington's  hand  vigorously 
and  said,  "  "Wasn't  that  a  smooth  song  I  sang  on 
the  steps — hey  ?  I'm  a  good  one,  only  none  of 
'em  appreciate  me.  Oh,  yes,  I  nearly  forgot — 
I'm  up  here  on  business.  I'm  up  here  on  busi 
ness,  Tommy  Tucker,"  he  repeated,  and  daintily 
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College  Men 


kicked  off  Tucker's  cap  and  disappeared  into 
one  of  the  bedrooms.  Tucker  kept  on  work 
ing.  Symington  wondered  what  Timberly  was 
doing. 

It  was  nearly  half-past  eight  now,  and  other 
fellows  began  dropping  in.  Some  helloed  first 
and  some  came  unannounced.  Tucker  looked 
up  to  see  who  they  were.  Sometimes  he  said 
"  Hello  "  and  sometimes  he  did  not.  Some  of 
them  took  off  their  caps.  Others  did  not. 
Tucker  left  it  to  the  first  ones  to  introduce 
Symington  to  the  later  ones. 

After  half  an  hour's  absence  Timberly 
emerged  from  the  room  finishing  a  sentence  he 
had  begun  before  he  opened  the  door.  "  And 
Tommy,  you  must  do  the  rest.  You  can  tie 
them  so  nicely  too." 

"  Tommy,  look,"  said  the  man  with  the  banjo 
on  the  sofa. 

Timberly  was  standing  up  straight,  nicely  in 
cased  in  evening  clothes  and  holding  two  ends 
of  a  white  tie  in  his  hands.  He  looked  well- 
groomed  and  seemed  like  a  different  man  now. 
Perhaps  he  was. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  said  Tucker,  in  a 
stern  voice. 

"  I've  got  to  do  it.  It's  two  years  now,  and 
it's  not  good  form  to  let  a  dinner  call  go  more 

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College  Men 


than  two  years  in  Princeton.  Here,  Tommy, 
fix  this." 

"  Do  it  yourself." 

"  These  were  great  friends  of  my  brother's, 
and  he  made  me  promise  on  the  Family  Bible, 
if  we  have  one.  Here,  tie  this.  Great  Scott, 
I've  done  all  the  rest.  They  are  your  own 
clothes.  You  ought  to  at  least  be  willing  to  fix 
the  tie." 

Tucker  put  his  pen  between  his  teeth  and 
tied  the  knot  with  Timbeiiy  kneeling  at  his  feet 
like  a  patient  child  having  his  face  washed. 
Tucker  was  one  of  the  three  men  in  college  who 
could  make  a  decent  job  of  a  tie  on  another 
man's  neck  without  standing  behind  him.  The 
others  looked  on  in  silence.  Timberly  looked 
up  and  winked  at  the  prep. 

As  a  rule  Symington  did  not  like  people  to 
wink  at  him,  as  though  he  were  a  boy,  but  this 
was  a  most  peculiar  wink.  He  not  only  liked  it 
but  nearly  snorted  out  with  laughter,  which 
would  have  been  a  very  kiddish  thing  to  do. 

Timberly  jumped  up.  "  You're  a  pretty  nice 
fellow,  Tommy  Tucker,  even  though  you  are 
arrogant,"  he  said,  and  leaned  over  and  rubbed 
his  chin  affectionately  across  Tucker's  nose, 
then  grabbed  his  cap  and  started  for  the  door. 

"By    the   way   Timber,"   said   Tucker.      "I 

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College  Men 


want  you  to  return  those  clothes  some  time. 
Do  you  hear  ?  I  may  go  out  of  town  next  week." 

"  That  sounds  reasonable,"  replied  Timberly, 
reflectively  rattling  the  knob  as  he  glanced 
about  the  room  at  the  others. 

"  And  I  don't  want  to  chase  all  over  the 
campus  for  'em.  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Now,  Tommy  Tucker,  you  talk  as  if  I  were 
accustomed  to  keeping  things  I  borrow.  What 
are  you  fellows  laughing  at  ?  Besides,  you  know 
very  well,  T.  Tucker,  that  even  if  I  should 
happen  to  forget  to  return  your  suit,  all  you 
would  have  to  do  would  be  to  wire  down  home 
for  mine — or,  no,  ask  me  and  I'd  wire  down  my 
self  and  save  you  the  trouble."  He  banged  the 
door. 

"  Now  do  you  suppose,"  laughed  the  one  with 
the  cigar  on  the  divan  as  Tiniberly's  feet  in 
Tucker's  patent  leathers  went  pattering  down 
the  stairs,  "  that  Timber  thought  he  was  in 
earnest  in  that  last  brilliant  remark  of  his,  or 
was  it  meant  for  horse."  You  could  seldom  tell 
with  Timberly. 

"I  don't  believe  he  knew  himself,"  said  the 
man  with  his  feet  on  the  arms  of  Symington's 
chair.  "  He's  on  one  of  his  streaks  to-day.  I 
saw  the  symptoms  this  morning  in  Ethics.  And 
when  he's  that  way  he's  .as  good  as  crazy." 

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College  Men 


"  Eight,"  said  the  one  with  the  banjo.  k<  He 
don't  know  what  he's  saying  any  more  than  he 
knows  that  he  has  a  cap  on  his  head  with  a 
dress  suit.  If  he  were  in  his  right  mind  he 
would  not  go  out  calling." 

"  He'll  either  make  a  fool  of  himself  this 
evening  wherever  he  goes,  or  else  he'll  make 
one  of  those  great  tears  of  his." 

But  Symington  the  prep,  thought  Timbeiiy 
was  about  the  best  fun  in  the  world. 

Some  of  the  fellows  left  and  others  came  in. 
Symington  thought  some  of  them  behaved  oddly. 
One  man  seemed  very  sour  and  came  in  scowl 
ing  and  sat  down  without  saying  hello  to  any 
body.  He  put  his  feet  on  the  table  and  pulled 
his  cap  down  over  his  eyes.  As  soon  as  he 
finished  his  pipe  and  had  emptied  the  ashes  on 
the  carpet  to  keep  out  the  moths  he  arose  and 
stretched  himself  and  went  away  again.  He 
had  not  said  a  word.  And  after  he  had  left  no 
one  said  anything  about  it. 

That  happened  while  the  crowd  was  thickest. 
When  there  were  only  a  few  fellows  in  the  room 
some  one  generally  remembered  to  introduce 
the  incomers  to  Symington.  He  rather  liked 
the  way  they  treated  him.  They  did  not,  as  a 
rule,  patronize  him  because  of  his  being  a  prep. 
And  they  did  not  take  pains  to  make  him  feel 


College  Men 


at  ease,  which  would  have  rattled  him.  They 
treated  him  more  as  if  he  were  one  of  them,  and 
talked  to  him,  if  they  felt  like  it,  and  let  him 
look  after  himself,  if  they  did  not.  At  least 
that  is  the  way  it  seemed  to  Charlie.  And  they 
called  him  Charlie  or  Symington,  without  any 
Mister,  which  would  have  made  him  feel  ridicu 
lous. 

And  all  this  time  Tucker  at  his  desk  kept  on 
working  and  only  looked  up  occasionally  to 
say,  "  How  are  you,  Willie,  there's  the  tobacco, 
come  in."  The  only  time  he  arose  from  his 
seat  was  once  when  Jack  the  trainer  came  in, 
and  looking  at  the  crowd  said,  "  Mister  Tucker, 
can  I  speak  with  ye  a  moment."  The  busy  man 
said  "  Certainly  "  and  led  the  way  into  his  bed 
room  and  closed  the  door  with  a  bang,  and  came 
out  again  in  a  few  minutes  saying,  "  All  right 
Jack,  I  appreciate  your  position.  I'll  see  to  it. 
Good-night,"  and  sat  down  to  work  again. 

At  a  little  before  eleven  the  prep,  began  to 
feel  the  force  of  training  habits.  He  was  grit 
ting  his  teeth  hard  to  keep  from  yawning. 
Tucker,  who  had  not  looked  up  for  nearly  an 
hour,  whisked  his  papers  and  things  to  one  side, 
slammed  two  drawers,  turned  a  lock,  and  sud 
denly  jumped  up  from  his  chair.  He  ran  across 
the  room  with  a  yell  which  startled  the  prep,  and 

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College  Men 


made  the  chandelier  ring.  Then  he  threw  him 
self  upon  two  fellows  on  the  divan  and  began 
calling  them  names.  His  teeth  were  set  and  his 
face  so  fierce  that  the  prep,  found  it  difficult  to 
keep  from  believing  him  angry.  And  then  the 
two  on  the  divan  arose  in  their  might  and  cast 
him  upon  the  floo.r,  exclaiming,  victoriously, 
"There,  be  Gosh."  Tucker  was  through  his 
work  for  the  week  and  was  feeling  glad  about 
it.  That  was  his  way  of  expressing  it. 

"  Now,  Charlie,"  he  said  in  a  loud,  careless 
manner,  "  we  go  out  and  have  some  fun  now. 
Here's  a  cap.  Don't  wear  that  ugly  stiff  hat 
any  more.  See  ?  " 

Symington  had  no  idea  where  he  was  going, 
but  he  arose  and  said  good-by  to  the  three 
others  in  the  room.  They  did  not  seem  to  feel 
badly  in  the  least  over  their  rude  treatment  on 
the  part  of  their  host.  One  of  them,  sitting  on 
a  table  with  one  foot  on  a  chair  and  the  other  on 
the  floor,  was  reading  a  book  of  verses  and  did 
not  look  up  when  Tucker  said,  "  So  long."  The 
other  two,  who  had  been  talking  about  the  base 
ball  prospects  and  including  Symington  in  their 
conversation,  remained  flat  on  their  backs  talk 
ing  about  the  baseball  prospects  without  Sym 
ington. 

It  was  a  beautiful  evening.    In  other  words  it 


College  Men 


was  spring  term  and  the  night  was  clear.  There 
were  still  groups  of  fellows  seated  on  the  door 
steps  or  stretched  out  under  the  trees.  The 
gleain  of  their  flannels  could  be  seen  in  the 
dark.  They  were  up  in  the  balconies  also.  One 
of  them  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  and 
Symington  saw  the  sparks  float  down.  He 
heard  a  low  laugh  come  from  one  of  the  wide 
open  windows.  Up  from  Witherspoon  came  the 
tinkle  of  mandolin  music.  They  were  playing 
to  some  visiting  girls  on  those  broad  balconies 
in  front. 

"This  is  West,"  said  Tucker;  "Jack  Steh- 
man  lives  in  that  room  up  there  and  Harry 
Lawrence  in  the  one  below " 

"  Oh,  Stehrnau  the  tackle  ?  "  asked  the  prep. 

"  Yes.     Have  you  met  him  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  You  will  to-night." 

The  prep.'s  heart  gave  a  bound.  He  was  to 
meet  Stehnian. 

They  passed  down  by  Clio  Hall  and  dingy 
Edwards  and  turned  toward  a  long  gray  build 
ing  a  little  to  the  left. 

"  This  is  Dod  Hall,"  Tucker  said,  and  opened 
one  of  the  big  doors. 

They  went  up  two  or  three  flights  of  stairs 
and  turned  down  the  hall,  and  Tucker  kicked  a 


College  Men 


door  at  the  end  of  it.  Something  clicked  and 
the  door  opened  of  itself.  Four  or  five  voices 
shouted,  "Come  in." 

Mingled  bits  of  conversation  and  tobacco 
smoke  and  the  odor  of  lemon-peel  met  them  in 
the  little  hall-way  as  they  entered  it.  But  Sym 
ington  the  prep,  looked  behind  the  door  and 
made  up  his  mind  that  his  door  would  have  an 
electric  apparatus  like  that  when  he  came  to 
college. 

A  fellow  stuck  his  head  out  of  one  of  the  bed 
room  doors  and  pointing  across  the  hall-way 
to  the  main  room  with  a  long,  bright  deer-knife, 
said,  "  Come  in,  Tom,  I'll  be  there  in  a  mo 
ment."  He  rubbed  perspiration  from  his  brow 
with  the  back  of  the  hand  which  held  a  lemon 
and  disappeared  into  the  bedroom. 

"  Yea-a-a  !  "  cried  several  voices  as  Tucker 
pushed  back  the  portiere  and  stood  in  the  door 
way.  "  Come  in,  Tommy,"  they  said.  "  Come 
in,  Symington,"  said  one  of  the  fellows  that 
knew  the  prep. 

"  Fellows,  this  is  my  friend  Symington,  the 
prep.'  "  said  Tucker ;  "  Symington,  this  is  de 
gang."  Tucker  tossed  his  cap  and  Symington's 
gracefully  into  the  scrap  -  basket  and  pushed 
Charlie  into  a  seat  on  the  sofa.  A  fellow  with 
spectacles  began  asking  him  what  he  thought  of 

270 


College  Men 


the  afternoon's  game.  The  prep,  did  not  know 
the  man's  name,  but  that  did  not  matter. 

There  were  about  a  dozen  fellows  scattered 
about  the  room,  but  the  thing  that  attracted 
Symington's  attention  was  in  the  centre  of  it. 

Two  square-topped  desks  had  been  placed 
end  to  end.  On  these  lay  a  table-cloth,  or  rather 
some  sheets,  and  on  them  was  stacked  a  pile  of 
things  good  to  look  at  and  better  to  eat.  The 
only  reason  the  food  did  not  immediately*  be 
come  part  of  the  dozen  fellows  was  because  they 
were  waiting  with  watering  mouths  for  some 
thing  to  wash  it  down  with.  And  this  was  being 
prepared  as  rapidly  as  Randolph  and  Ashley  in 
the  bedroom  could  do  it.  Perhaps  they  were 
trying  to  do  it  too  rapidly,  for  Symington 
heard  a  voice  exclaim,  "  Aw,  look  out,  you  ass, 
you're  spilling  it  all  over  my  bed." 

While  they  were  waiting,  Dougal  Davis  and 
Reddy  Armstrong  and  Harry  Lawrence  and 
Jim  Linton  and  others  came  in.  When  the 
lounge,  window-seat,  chairs,  tables,  and  coal 
scuttle  became  crowded,  the  new-comers  sat  on 
the  floor. 

Presently  the  introductory  strains  of  Mendels 
sohn's  l: Wedding  March"  came  from  the  bed 
room,  followed  by  Randy  and  Dad  Ashley  and 
two  assistants  bearing  aloft  two  basins,  which 

271 


College  Men 


seemed  to  be  heavy.  They  strode  in,  swinging 
their  feet  far  out  in  front  in  a  stagey  manner  to 
the  tune  of  the  "  "Wedding  March  "  which  they 
shouted  with  their  heads  thrown  back. 

Hunter  Ramsay  jumped  up  and  marched  be 
hind  them.  The  rest  thought  this  a  good  idea 
and  did  likewise,  and  all  sang  loud  and  stamped 
hard  and  made  the  poler  growl  in  the  room  be 
low,  which  did  no  good.  Then  after  marching 
twice  around  the  table  they  carefully  set  the 
bowls  down  at  either  end  of  it  with  the  ice  tink 
ling  against  the  sides.  One  of  the  bowl-bear 
ers  remarked,  "  Maybe  you  don't  think  those 
things  are  heavy." 

"  Now  then ! "  said  Stehman  the  tackle,  ap 
proaching  the  table.  "Ah  !  "  said  Symington's 
friend  Tucker.  The  others  may  have  said 
things  also.  If  they  did  not  they  looked  them. 

No  one  waited  to  be  asked.  Everyone  was 
supposed  to  know  without  being  told  what  was 
the  object  of  white  breasts  of  cold  chicken  with 
russet-brown  skin,  and  rich  Virginia  ham  with 
spices  sticking  in  the  golden-brown  outside  fat, 
and  little,  thin,  home-made  sandwiches  and 
olives  and  jellies,  Virginia  jellies,  you  know,  and 
beaten  biscuit  and  chocolate  cake  and  fruit  cake, 
or  black  cake,  as  they  call  it  in  the  South.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  they  all  did  seem  to  know,  and 

272 


College  Men 


this  included  Symington,  who  held  his  own 
with  the  others  very  well  for  a  little  prep,  boy 
in  training.  He  had  forgotten  to  be  sleepy 
now. 

Thus  began  one  of  the  greatest  evenings  in 
the  life  of  Charlie  Symington,  and  it  lasted  un 
til  two  o'clock.  It  was  an  old-fashioned  spread. 
There  was  no  caterer  with  a  gas-stove  in  the 
bedroom,  or  a  table  set  with  a  bank  of  flowers 
down  the  centre,  or  properly  attired  waiters 
opening  wine  behind  the  chairs.  Randolph's 
mother  had  sent  up  a  lot  of  deliciously  cooked 
stuff  from  the  old  place  in  Virginia.  Randolph 
had  said  to  some  of  the  fellows,  "  I've  got  a  box 
of  grub.  Can  you  come  'round  this  evening  ?  " 
And  by  the  looks  of  things  most  of  them  had 
found  that  they  could  as  well  as  not. 

Symington  had  the  best  time  of  them  all,  and, 
besides,  he  learned  much.  He  noticed  that 
quite  as  many  fellows  took  lemonade  as  drank 
punch,  and  this  was  a  matter  of  surprise  to 
the  prep.  For  his  ideas  of  college  men  were 
largely  drawn  from  would-be  sportive  young 
freshmen  that  drove  through  prep,  school 
towns  waving  beer-bottles  overhead  and  beating 
their  horses  into  a  gallop. 

Nobody  got  drunk.  Everyone  became  livelier 
and  brighter  and  better,  but  that  is  the  object  of 

373 


College  Men 


such  gatherings,  and  those  who  confined  their 
attentions  to  the  lemonade  end  of  the  table  were 
as  noisy  as  the  others.  No  one  was  urged  to 
take  the  red  fluid  rather  than  the  yellow.  In 
fact  no  one  observed  which  fellows  visited 
which  punch-bowl.  No  one  but  Symington. 
And  he  had  been  under  the  impression  that  at 
college  a  fellow's  jaws  were  pried  open  with  a 
baseball  bat  and  rum  was  poured  down  his 
throat,  while  three  other  men  held  his  legs  and 
arms. 

The  room  had  now  become  beautifully  hazy 
with  smoke.  Some  of  the  fellows  tipped  their 
chairs  back  and  put  their  feet  up.  The  window- 
seat  was  full  to  overflowing.  One  man  rested 
his  head  on  another  fellow's  shoulder  and  asked 
him  to  muss  his  hair.  The  legs  of  the  one  hav 
ing  his  hair  mussed  stretched  out  over  the  legs 
of  two  other  fellows  and  intertwined  with  those 
of  a  third.  Two  men  were  sitting  beside  the 
oranges  on  the  table.  Some  were  on  the  floor 
with  their  backs  against  the  wall.  All  had  full 
stomachs  and  light  jovial  spirits.  Symington 
was  watching  Dougal  Davis  blow  rings. 

Harry  Lawrence  started  up  "  The  Orange  and 
the  Black."  They  sang  all  the  stanzas.  Then 
they  sang  more  songs,  old  songs  which  are  still 
popular  and  new  songs  which  were  then  popu- 

274 


College  Men 


lar  and  are  now  quite  forgotten,  probably. 
Everyone  sang,  whether  he  knew  how  or  not. 
Symington  sang  too.  The  one  he  liked  the  best 
was  a  funny  song  beginning,  "  Oh,  to-day  is  the 
day  that  he  conies  from  the  city."  They  sang 
that  one  over  and  over  again.  Then  they  sang 
it  once  more.  They  were  all  having  a  good  time. 

After  a  while  the  room  became  quiet  and 
someone  turned  down  the  lights  and  they  told 
ghost  stories,  which  frightened  the  prep. 

They  wound  up  the  evening  by  trooping  down 
stairs  in  the  dark,  for  the  lights  were  turned  out 
long  ago,  and  marching  up  to  the  front  campus, 
singing  as  they  went.  And  there  they  danced 
about  the  cannon  and  sang  and  whooped  and 
yelled  until  Bill  Leggett  came  over  with  his  lan 
tern  and  said,  in  his  gruff  voice  and  good-natured 
manner,  "  Boys,  it's  nearly  Sunday  morning." 

"  All  right,  Bill,"  they  answered.  Then  all 
said  good-night  and  went  to  bed. 

Tucker  had  a  roommate  some  place,  but 
Symington  had  his  bedroom  that  night. 

"  If  you  want  anything,  just  yell  for  me,  Char 
lie.  My  room  is  right  next,  you  know.  Good 
night."  Tucker  was  half  undressed. 

"  I  sha'n't  want  anything.  Wait  a  minute, 
Tucker,  please.  I'm  not  sure  about  something, 
and  it  bothers  me." 

275 


College  Men 


"Well?" 

"Princeton  won  the  football  championship 
in '78,  didn't  we?" 

"  Say  that  again." 

"  Didn't  we  win  in  78  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Charlie,  we  did." 

Symington  thought  his  friend  Tucker  was 
smiling  at  his  ignorance.  But  that  wasn't  it. 


S76 


THE  MAN  THAT  LED  THE  CLASS 


THE   MAN   THAT  LED   THE   CLASS 

THE  Latin  salutatory  was  finished.  Dougal 
Davis  bowed  and  took  his  seat  and  the 
applause  began. 

He  had  done  well  and  he  knew  it,  but  he  did 
not  stop  to  dwell  upon  that  now.  There  would 
be  plenty  of  time  to  feel  pleased  with  himself 
later  on.  At  present  his  chief  sensation  was  of 
jubilant  relief  at  telling  himself  that  the  thing 
was  over  with  at  last. 

Not  many  of  his  audience  had  understood 
much  of  what  he  had  been  saying,  but  that  did 
not  matter.  The  fellows  smiled  at  the  right  time 
when  he  said  something  about  pueUa-s  pulchras, 
and  they  nodded  their  heads  knowingly  when 
he  made  the  reference  to  athletics,  as  he  had 
told  them  beforehand  to  do.  And  he  had  gotten 
through  without  forgetting  the  paragraph  begin 
ning  with  "  Postquam,"  as  he  feared  he  would. 

He  was  mopping  his  good-looking  brow.  His 
nerves  were  still  quivering,  but  he  felt  perfectly 
cool  and  unafraid  of  anything,  and  he  sat  very 
still  with  his  eyes  half  closed,  and  felt  the  ten- 

279 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


sion  on  his  nerves  soothingly  relax.  Then  for 
the  first  time  he  heard  the  applause,  and  it  oc 
curred  to  him  that  all  those  many  people  out 
there  were  clapping  their  hands  for  him,  and 
that  for  five  minutes  they  had  heard  very  little 
else  but  his  voice,  and  he  felt  without  glancing 
up  that  they  were  still  looking  at  him  and  very 
likely  thinking,  "  That  is  the  man  that  led  the 
class."  He  told  himself  all  this  with  an  inward 
smile  of  wonder  at  his  own  importance,  and  at 
his  not  being  more  impressed  by  it. 

Then  he  slowly  raised  his  eyes  and  moved  his 
gaze  around  over  the  many  fluttering  fans  to  the 
right.  He  passed  over  it  once  without  seeing 
it,  then  he  found  the  face  he  was  searching  for. 
She  was  looking  up  at  him  with  just  the  kind  of 
a  smile  that  he  knew  would  be  there,  and  when 
she  caught  his  eye,  the  smile  became  radiant,  and 
he  fancied  he  saw  a  little  look  of  triumph  in  it. 
This  he  answered  with  a  shrug  of  his  engowned 
shoulder  and  an  almost  imperceptible  grimace, 
and  quickly  looked  away  again.  No  one  else 
saw  it,  but  she  saw  and  she  understood. 

The  applause  had  ceased,  and  the  next  man 
was  introduced  and  the  audience  turned  their 
attention  to  him. 

Davis  took  a  long  breath  and  looked  about 
him.  There  was  a  fat  old  lady  fanning  vigor- 

280 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


ously,  and  at  every  stroke  of  the  fan  a  ray  of 
light  was  reflected  in  his  face.  Over  there  on 
the  right  of  the  platform  were  the  venerable 
trustees.  Harry  Lawrence's  fine  looking  father, 
with  the  handsome  head  of  gray  hair,  was  in  the 
front  row,  looking  grave  and  indulgently  inter 
ested.  On  the  left  were  the  faculty  in  their 
black  gowns.  They  appeared  more  or  less  ac 
customed  to  all  this.  Down  in  front  were  his 
classmates,  and  back  of  these  the  many,  many 
people  closely  crowded  together.  Their  faces 
looked  like  little  patches  of  white  with  dark 
marks  for  features,  and  nearly  all  of  them 
seemed  to  be  fanning. 

He  remembered  the  lining  up  under  the  elms 
this  morning  in  front  of  North,  and  the  band 
that  played,  and  the  girls  that  gazed,  and  the 
many  classes  calling  "  '82  this  way !"  and  "'61 
this  way  !  "  and  the  old-fashioned  cheer  that  '79 
gave.  Then  with  the  band  taking  a  fresh  hold 
on  the  air,  how  the  long  procession  had  begun 
its  march  under  the  trees  toward  the  church,  be 
tween  the  crowds  of  visitors  who  parted  to  either 
side  and  looked  at  them  as  they  filed  by. 

First  came  that  member  of  the  faculty  who  is 
always  grand  marshal  and  carries  an  orange  and 
black  baton,  then  the  august  trustees  followed 
by  the  faculty  in  their  gowns  and  mortar  boards, 

381 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


and  behind  these  trooped  the  sons  of  Nassau ; 
each  class  in  the  order  of  graduation,  and  last  of 
all  those  who  were  about  to  become  graduates, 
over  whom  all  this  fuss  was  being  made,  and  who 
were  somewhat  impressed  by  it  and  by  the  length 
of  their  gowns. 

He  remembered  the  slow,  dignified  march  led 
by  the  grand  usher  and  his  assistants  up  the  aisle 
of  the  old  church  between  the  crowded  pews  of 
smiling  fathers  and  proud  mothers  and  the  girls 
with  bright-colored  dresses.  He  recalled  how 
amused  and  yet  pleased  he  was  at  hearing  a 
junior  whisper  to  a  girl  beside  him,  "  There  he 
is  —  that's  Davis,  the  one  I  was  telling  you 
about."  This  he  remembered  had  interrupted 
the  silent  rehearsal  of  the  sentence  with  the 
ablative  absolute  in  it.  But  he  did  not  have  to 
rehearse  it  any  more.  All  the  salutatorian  had 
to  do  was  to  sit  still  and  hear  what  the  other 
speakers  had  to  say  and  feel  good. 

He  was  thinking  about  himself  and  the  four 
years  just  past,  and  having  a  right  good  time  at 
it.  He  recalled  how  he  had  been  a  nobody 
at  the  start,  and  he  smiled  as  he  remembered 
how  some  of  these  very  fellows  in  the  pews  be 
fore  him  had  looked  down  on  him  in  freshman 
year,  and  how  he  had  forced  their  respect  and 
won  their  liking.  He  traced  the  progress  of  it 

283 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


from  the  first  step  when  he  gained  the  one  fresh 
man  position  on  the  Princetonian  board  and 
overheard  someone  say,  "  What !  that  poler  ?  " 
up  to  the  present  time  when  people  pointed  him 
out  on  the  campus  and  said,  "  There  goes  Dougal 
Davis."  Few  ambitious  men  graduate  with  as 
much  to  be  proud  of  and  as  little  to  regret. 

First  there  was  the  prize  for  leading  the  class 
in  freshman  year,  then  came  the  sophomore 
essay  prize,  and  the  Washington's  birthday  de 
bate,  and  the  next  year  a  classical  prize  and  two 
or  three  Hall  honors,  including  one  of  the  four 
appointments  for  the  inter-Hall  junior  oratorical 
contest,  in  which  he  had  won  first  place,  and  a 
number  of  other  prizes  of  which  he  did  not  stop 
to  think  in  detail,  and  finally  the  appointment  as 
first  representative  of  his  Hall  in  the  Lynde  de 
bate  which  had  taken  place  the  night  before,  and 
the  result  of  which  would  be  announced  to-day. 
Intermingled  with  these  were  other  honors,  such 
as  the  membership  of  an  elective  club,  and  the 
presidency  of  his  class  in  junior  year,  and  the 
class  oratorship  on  Class  Day,  and  then  the 
Latin  salutatory  to-day. 

You  see  he  had  just  about  all  one  man  could 
get,  and  before  he  left  the  room  he  was  going  to 
hear  his  name  read  out  before  everybody,  as  the 
winner  of  still  a  few  more  honors.  This  was  the 

383 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


culmination  of  a  rather  successful  career,  and  he 
told  himself  that  he  did  not  care  how  conceited 
it  was,  he  was  going  to  enjoy  it  for  all  it  was 
worth,  for  before  the  sun  set  he  would  be  an  un 
dergraduate  no  longer,  and  there  would  be  plenty 
of  time  to  find  how  small  he  was. 

Dougal  Davis  was  the  son  of  a  foreign  mis 
sionary,  and  he  had  entered  college  with  the  in 
tention  of  making  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  of 
himself.  He  still  had  that  intention.  He  was 
one  of  the  most  popular  men  on  the  campus. 

When  he  began  his  course  he  was  as  bristling 
with  prejudices  and  as  redolent  of  sanctimony 
as  many  high-minded  young  men  of  noble  pur 
pose  and  little  tact,  but  unlike  some  of  them  he 
had  sense  of  humor  enough  to  find  out  pretty 
promptly  that  he  was  a  young  prig. 

He  soon  shed  many  of  his  prejudices,  and  he 
was  fair-minded  enough  to  let  the  good  whole 
some  atmosphere  of  the  campus  air  out  his 
sanctimony.  This  is  a  way  of  saying  that  early 
in  freshman  year  he  took  himself  in  hand  and 
decided  that  if  he  and  a  number  of  other  fellows 
looked  at  a  number  of  things  in  vastly  different 
ways  it  did  not  necessarily  follow  that  the  other 
fellows  were  dead  wrong.  He  was  in  evidence 
at  class  prayer-meetings,  but  not  more  than  at 
the  meetings  at  the  lamp-post  in  front  of  Ee- 

284 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


union,  with  his  hands  doubled  up  under  a 
sweater,  gossiping  with  the  crowd.  That  is  the 
sort  of  a  fellow  he  was. 

Davis's  father  had  a  small  salary  and  a  large 
family,  like  all  missionaries,  and  one  of  the  girls 
had  come  back  to  the  States  when  Dougal  did  to 
go  to  a  school  in  Philadelphia.  So  young  Davis 
earned  the  price  of  his  education. 

But  this  was  not  so  hard  as  it  sounds.  Being 
a  minister's  son  he  had  a  scholarship,  which 
saved  his  tuition  bills,  and  he  ran  a  club,  so  that 
his  board  cost  nothing.  Leading  the  class  in 
freshman  year  not  only  brought  him  the  prize  of 
$200,  but  the  best  kind  of  advertising  with  the 
faculty  as  well,  so  that  in  sophomore  year  he  had 
more  tutoring  sent  around  to  him  than  he  knew 
what  to  do  with.  Then  he  became  Princeton 
correspondent  for  several  papers,  and  dropped 
tutoring  except  on  special  occasions  and  at  very 
special  rates.  He  had  such  a  reputation  that  he 
could  have  had  any  price  he  asked.  "  Go  to 
Davis  ;  he  can  put  you  through  any  examina 
tion,"  they  used  to  say. 

In  junior  year  he  enlarged  his  newspaper  cor 
respondence  and  began-  doing  some  syndicate 
work.  He  gained  a  bit  of  reputation  with  foot 
ball  writing,  and  in  his  senior  year  he  used  to 
sign  his  name  to  a  column  of  it  every  week. 

285 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


"  The  joke  of  it  is,  "  Dougal  used  to  explain,  "  I 
don't  know  beans  about  the  game."  This  was 
not  strictly  true,  for  no  one  with  eyes  could  go 
through  four  years  of  tramping  down  to  'varsity 
field  without  absorbing  enough  to  enlighten  the 
average  sporting  editor. 

In  short,  before  Davis  was  three-quarters  of 
the  way  through  his  college  course,  he  was  pay 
ing  his  expenses  and  making  a  surplus  which 
was  considerably  larger  than  that  which  poor 
young  men  who  earn  their  way  through  col 
lege  to  preach  the  Gospel  are  supposed  to 
have. 

Now  he  might  have  sent  a  portion  of  it  out 
to  his  hard-working  parents  in  Persia,  or  have 
helped  to  defray  the  expenses  of  his  ambitious 
sister  at  school.  This  would  have  been  noble  of 
him,  but  he  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  One  does 
not  need  much  money  in  Persia  ;  there's  nothing 
to  spend  it  on.  His  people  had  a  large,  comfort 
able  home  with  a  dozen  servants  to  look  after  it, 
and  they  seemed  to  have  leisure  enough  to  write 
articles  for  English  and  American  magazines  now 
and  then.  A  rich  aunt  looked  out  for  his  sister, 
and  she  had  the  reputation  of  dressing  more 
artistically  than  any  girl  in  the  Walnut  Street 
school.  The  only  thing  he  did  for  her  was  to 
send  an  occasional  box  of  candy,  or  a  book,  like 

286 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


any  other  brother.  Davis  did  not  even  save  his 
money.  He  blew  it  in  on  himself  and  his  friends, 
like  any  other  natural  young  man.  What  do  you 
suppose  he  worked  so  hard  for  if  it  were  not  to 
go  in  Avith  the  rest  of  the  club  for  coaches  at 
Thanksgiving  games,  and  to  take  runs  to  Phila 
delphia  over  Sunday,  and  to  give  spreads  in  his 
room  on  Saturday  nights,  and  to  do  the  other 
things  for  which  one  has  sore  need  of  money 
and  for  which  he  goes  broke  for  about  twen 
ty  da}'s  of  each  month  ?  If  Davis  had  been  a 
modern  undergraduate  he  would  perhaps  have 
spent  money  on  good-looking  clothes,  though 
I  hardly  think  that  of  him. 

The  only  disadvantage  in  his  way  of  living 
was  that  it  took  time,  so  that  he  did  not  have  as 
much  of  it  to  loaf  in  as  he  would  have  liked. 
Especially  as  he  was  mixed  up  in  half-a-dozen 
outside  interests  of  the  college  world,  and  had  a 
provokingly  high  stand  in  class  to  maintain  be 
sides.  For  although  the  fellows  used  to  say  he 
kept  on  leading  his  class  from  force  of  habit,  as 
a  matter  of  fact  it  took  considerable  valuable 
time. 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  he  had  to  do  his  re 
viewing  up  regularly  week  by  week,  for  he  was  of 
no  account  at  cramming  all  night  for  exams.,  he 
said.  Perhaps  this  was  true.  When  the  crowd 

287 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


used  to  gather  in  half-undressed  condition  with 
wet  towels  around  their  heads  and  wild  looks  OB 
their  faces,  Dougal  generally  stretched  out  upon 
the  divan  and  drummed  on  a  banjo,  with  his 
eyes  half  closed  and  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and 
listened  to  the  others  quizzing  and  getting  excit 
ed,  and  at  twelve  o'clock,  except  on  rare  occasions, 
he  said  good-night,  and  went  to  bed  and  slept 
like  a  child,  and  the  next  day  would  saunter 
into  Examination  Hall  as  fresh  as  a  spring  term 
Sunday,  and  write  the  best  paper  in  the  class. 
It  is  in  this  way  that  many  fellows  remember 
him  best. 

The  reason  he  never  seemed  to  be  especially 
rushed  was  that  he  had  the  knack  of  arranging 
his  time,  and  had  learned  while  still  in  college 
that  there  are  a  great  many  moments  in  twenty- 
four  hours.  He  went  to  breakfast  before  chapel, 
and  he  crammed  a  great  deal  into  those  odd 
hours  that  come  between  lectures,  which  most 
fellows  spend  in  making  up  their  minds  what  to 
do,  and  he  found  he  better  appreciated  a  loaf  on 
Saturday  night  if  he  put  in  most  of  the  daylight 
in  work.  It  was  in  that  way  he  managed  to  find 
time  to  keep  up  his  Hall  work  and  attend  to  his 
Princetonian  duties  and  committee  meetings 
and  write  orations  and  essays,  besides  manag 
ing  one  of  the  clubs  and  turning  out  an  average 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


of  one  thousand  words  of  copy  a  day  in  time  to 
catch  the  afternoon  mail. 

And  it  was  in  this  way  that  he  managed  to 
keep  from  breaking  down  under  it.  When  the 
bell  in  North  struck  five  he  always  tossed  aside 
his  book  and  ran  down  the  stairs  three  steps  at 
a  time  and  yelled,  "  Hello,  Tommy  Tucker,"  or 
"  Billy  Nolan,"  or  somebody  with  all  his  might, 
and  with  him  took  a  rattling  hard  walk — not 
down  Nassau  Street,  but  'cross  country — or  else 
an  hour's  pull  at  the  weights  in  the  gymnasium 
with  a  cold  shower-bath  and  a  hard  rub  at  the 
end  of  it,  and  then  walked  tingling  with  health 
and  content  to  the  club,  when  he  ate  the  largest 
meal  of  anyone  there — except  when  big  Steh- 
man  was  back  from  the  training-table. 

After  this  he  stretched  his  legs  far  under  the 
table  and  leaned  his  head  against  the  back  of 
the  chair,  and  there  lingered  with  the  coffee  and 
gossip,  blowing  beautiful  smoke  rings  for  an 
hour.  He  had  been  known  to  refuse  a  85  tu 
toring  offer  for  this  hour,  just  as  he  had  once 
sacrificed  an  elective  course  in  Greek  philoso 
phy  for  the  five  o'clock  one. 

During  the  past  year  Davis  had  been  making 
up  his  mind  to  a  few  things.  One  of  them  was 
that  he  would  go  out  to  the  foreign  field.  He 
could  not  say  that  he  felt  himself  called  to  it. 

289 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


He  did  not  sign  the  pledge  that  was  circulated 
about  in  the  colleges  at  that  time  as  the  "  Stu 
dent  volunteer  movement." 

Ever  since  he  could  remember  he  had  intended 
to  be  a  preacher,  though  there  was  a  period, 
which  came  about  the  same  time  as  his  first  pair 
of  trousers,  when  he  thought  he  would  rather 
be  a  dragoman  with  a  fierce  mustache  and  big 
buttons.  And  now  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  would  become  a  foreign  missionary,  like 
his  father. 

He  felt  that  he  was  pretty  well  suited  to  the 
work  and  would  make  a  success  of  it.  He  had 
a  strong  constitution,  a  good  voice,  and  adapta 
bility  to  circumstances.  He  knew  pretty  well 
by  nature  how  to  get  at  people,  and  the  summer 
spent  slumming  down  in  Rivington  Street,  New 
York,  had  taught  him  considerably  more.  Be 
sides,  he  already  had  the  language  down  fine, 
and  could  stumble  along  tolerably  well  with  two 
of  the  low  dialects. 

What  is  more,  he  thought  he  would  like  it. 
He  did  not  tell  himself  that  it  was  noble  to  go 
and  bury  himself  way  out  there,  for  there  wasn't 
any  burying  about  it.  He  liked  the  climate  and 
expected  to  have  a  good  time  in  Persia,  with  a 
man-servant  to  bow  low  and  make  his  coffee  in 
the  morning,  and  to  fill  his  big,  long  pipe  every 

290 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


evening,  and  lie  pictured  himself  on  a  horse 
riding  beside  a  certain  blue  river  with  peculiar 
big  trees  along  the  bank  quite  as  often  as  saving 
souls. 

At  least  this  is  the  way  he  used  to  talk  in  pow 
wows  in  fellows'  rooms.  But  there  were  certain 
long-faced  friends  of  his  that  misunderstood 
when  he  talked  in  this  manner. 

The  salutatorian  was  not  troubling  himself 
about  that  just  now,  as  he  sat  there  on  the  stage 
resting  his  chin  on  one  hand  and  fanning  him 
self  with  a  programme  in  the  other.  He  had 
been  idly  listening  to  Xolan  as  he  thundered 
and  perspired  about  Purity  in  Politics.  For  his 
part  he  preferred  gamey  Billy  Nolan,  the  all- 
round  athlete,  to  earnest  William  the  orator. 
Nervous  little  poler  Stacy  was  now  straining  his 
lungs  with  his  well-committed  plea  for  the  Greek 
Ideal.  Davis  was  not  following  it  very  closely. 
He  glanced  down  at  his  classmates  in  the  front 
rows.  He  knew  that  before  the  day  was  over 
he  was  going  to  feel  pretty  sad.  That  was  not 
troubling  him  very  much  now  either.  But  every 
time  he  looked  down  there  a  certain  thing  bobbed 
up  and  spoiled  the  pleasant  taste  in  his  mouth. 
It  was  hardly  worth  getting  uncomfortable  over. 
This  was  the  way  it  had  begun,  long  ago  last 

291 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


fall,  as  they  sat  around  the  table  after  dinner 
talking  football.  And  you  can  see  how  ridicu 
lous  it  was  to  worry  about  it. 

Davis  was  holding  forth  at  some  length  with 
considerable  earnestness,  as  he  had  a  perfect 
right  to  do,  of  course,  and  Jim  Linton  had  not 
joined  in  the  discussion.  He  seldom  did.  He 
was  quietly  sipping  his  coffee  at  the  end  of  the 
table  and  looking  quizzically  interested. 

Presently  he  interrupted.  "  Oh,  Dougal,"  he 
said.  He  had  arisen  to  go  and  was  refilling  his 
pipe. 

Dougal  stopped  short.  "  Yes  ?  "  he  said  in  an 
intense  tone. 

Linton  looked  at  him  a  moment,  folded  up  his 
pouch,  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  struck  a  match. 

Then  he  said,  between  puffs,  "  I'd  a  little  rather 
you  would  not  get  excited,  Dougal,"  and  started 
off  for  the  billiard-room. 

It  was  nothing  but  a  bit  of  ordinary  club  chaff 
such  as  passes  back  and  forth  every  day,  and 
Linton  forgot  the  occurrence  before  he  finished 
chalking  his  cue.  But  Dougal's  cheeks  had 
flushed  crimson,  and  before  he  knew  what  he 
was  saying  he  had  come  out  with  a  muttered  re 
mark  in  which  the  word  "  gentleman  "  was  loud 
enough  for  all  at  the  table  to  hear,  and  that  is  a 
very  awkward  word  to  handle  sometimes. 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


That  was  the  reason  no  one  said  anything 
for  a  moment.  Silences  were  rare  in  that 
room.  He  did  not  go  on  with  the  discussion 
of  the  defective  coaching  system.  Nor  did  the 
others. 

A  little  later  as  he  started  for  the  campus  old 
Jack  Stehman  joined  him  and  said,  in  his  sober, 
conscientious  way,  "  Say,  Dougal,  you  had  no 
business  saying  what  you  did  about  Jimmy.  Of 
course  you  didn't  mean  it,  but  you  had  better 
apologize,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

Davis  said  he  did  not  look  at  it  in  that  way, 
and  changed  the  subject.  Before  he  got  to  sleep 
that  night  he  saw  what  a  fool  he  had  made  of 
himself,  and  made  up  his  mind  to  apologize  to 
Linton  before  the  whole  table.  But  that  was  in 
the  middle  of  the  night. 

The  next  day  there  were  guests  at  the  club. 
The  following  day  Linton  dined  out.  The  day 
after  that  Davis  tried  to  make  himself  do  it  as 
they  sat  about  the  fireplace,  but  he  postponed 
it  until  some  time  when  his  heart  was  not  beat 
ing  so  loud,  for  he  did  not  feel  himself  called 
upon  to  make  a  scene  before  the  whole  club. 
When  he  thought  over  what  he  meant  to  say  it 
all  seemed  very  ridiculous,  and  he  blushed  at 
the  thought  of  it.  Linton  of  all  fellows  would 
dislike  any  slopping  over  of  this  sort.  So  he 

393 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


changed  his  mind  and  decided  to  speak  to  Lin- 
ton  alone  about  it. 

But  it  was  a  very  hard  thing  for  a  man  like 
Davis  to  talk  to  a  man  like  Lin  ton  about  a  thing 
like  this.  There  was  something  about  Linton 
that  he  did  not  understand.  He  was  the  one 
man  that  made  him  self-conscious.  He  always 
felt  as  though  Linton  saw  through 'him  and  un 
derstood  how  ambitious  he  was,  and  was  laugh 
ing  at  him  for  his  strenuous  struggling.  He 
told  himself  that  he  did  not  propose  to  be 
in  awe  of  a  lazy  dilettante  who  thought  himself 
a  clever  reader  of  human  nature.  But  that  did 
not  help  him  to  apologize.  And  the  longer  he 
put  it  off  the  harder  it  became,  naturally.  And 
the  longer  he  put  it  off  the  more  he  found  to  dis 
like  in  Linton,  which  was  also  natural,  only  you 
would  not  have  thought  this  of  Davis. 

After  a  while  he  began  wondering  how  he  had 
taken  to  Linton  in  the  first  place,  and  why  the 
other  fellows  liked  him  so  much.  Every  time 
they  were  together  he  began  comparing  him 
self  with  him.  By  most  standards  Davis  ought 
to  have  been  satisfied.  Linton  himself  never 
seemed  to  think  of  comparison.  He  seemed  to 
calmly  take  it  for  granted  that  Dougal  was  a 
wonderful  man,  and  often  referred  to  it  as  an 
acknowledged  fact.  He  seemed  to  be  glad  to 

394 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


speak  of  it.  But  he  had  a  way  of  making  fel 
lows  love  him  that  was  galling  to  the  man  that 
led  the  class. 

All  the  college  bowed  down  to  Dougal  Davis  ; 
not  twenty  under-classmen  knew  who  Linton 
was.  But  Timbeiiy  and  Eeddy  Armstrong  and 
Jack  Stehman  had  a  way  of  throwing  an  arm 
about  lazy  Linton,  whom  they  loved,  that  it  did 
not  occur  to  them  to  do^with  the  wonderful  Dou- 
g'al  Davis,  whom  they  admired.  Davis  wanted 
that  love.  He  wanted  everything.  You  see  he 
had  quite  a  disposition  to  contend  with. 

So  he  kept  on  having  disagreeable  times  with 
himself  and  the  conscience  which  would  not  let 
up.  Finally  he  made  up  his  mind  to  patch  it  all 
up  on  Commencement  Day,  and  he  had  hit  upon 
a  plan  by  which  he  could  make  just  amends  to 
Linton,  he  told  himself,  and  duly  punish  him 
self  at  the  same  time,  and  then  he  could  gradu 
ate  in  peace. 

Meanwhile  he  would  have  to  stop  thinking 
about  that  and  walk  down  from  the  stage  with 
the  other  Commencement  speakers,  for  Charles 
Benjamin  Howard  had  finished  telling  people 
about  the  Utility  of  Difference,  and  the  or 
chestra  was  playing  "  Ta-ra-ra  boom  de  ay." 

There  was  an  intermission  of  ten  minutes 
now.  After  that  would  come  the  announcement 

295 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


of  prizes  and  the  conferring  of  degrees,  then 
Smith's  valedictory,  followed  by  the  benediction, 
and  then  the  class  would  walk  out  into  the  world 
with  their  little  diplomas  under  their  arms  tied 
with  pretty  ribbons. 

The  audience  changed  their  positions  and 
looked  about  at  the  other  people  there,  whispered 
to  each  other,  and  went  to  fanning  again.  Some 
of  the  fathers  looked  at  their  watches  and  yawned 
and  wished  Commencement  was  over  with  be 
hind  their  programmes,  and  fell  to  thinking 
about  things  in  the  office  which  they  had  come 
here  to  forget. 

Other  old  grads.  smiled  kindly,  and  remem 
bered  how  they  used  to  do  when  they  were  in 
college.  The  young  alumnus  looked  pityingly  at 
the  graduating  class  in  the  front  rows  and 
thought  how  little  these  boys  knew  about  the 
big  world  he  knew  so  much  of. 

Meanwhile  the  juniors  and  the  lower  class 
men  were  very  active  and  noisy  in  the  rear  of 
the  old  church.  The  Whig  men  were  gathering 
on  the  left-hand  side,  and  Clio  Hall  on  the  right. 
Many  reinforcements  were  arriving  that  had  not 
been  near  the  church  during  the  other  exercises. 
The  aisles  became  jammed.  The  seats  were 
already  so. 

Suddenly  a  man   jumped  up  on   a  pew,  and 

296 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


screamed,  "  Now,  fellows  !  Clio  Hall,  this  way ! 
Hip-hip !  " 

"  Clio  Hall — this  way !  "  came  out  with  start 
ling  force  from  many  throats. 

This  woke  everyone  up,  and  those  that  had 
never  been  there  before  were  a  little  shocked  for 
a  moment.  The  loud  voices  echoed  strangely 
against  the  old  walls  and  among  the  old  pillars 
and  under  the  old  galleries,  which  by  the  way 
are  used  to  all  this  and  weren't  surprised  a  bit. 
No  doubt  they  miss  it  these  days. 

Then  the  left-hand  side  of  the  church  raised 
.its  voice  and  said,  "  Whig  Hall,  this  way !  "Whig 
Hall  this  wa-ay  !  "  in  still  fiercer  tones.  Then 
Clio  called  itself  together  again,  and  then  Whig 
Hall  cheered  and  so  did  Clio,  and  gave  a  long 
cheer  and  so  did  Whig.  Then  both  cheered  for 
themselves  at  once,  and  tried  to  drown  each 
other  out,  and  succeeded.  They  kept  this  up 
until  time  was  called.  That  is,  the  clerk  of  the 
board  of  trustees  arose  and  stretched  his  long 
neck  and  began  to  announce  the  prizes  from  a 
long  list  in  his  hand.  This  was  interesting. 

Whenever  he  read  out  an  award  in  his  strong 
voice,  it  was  met  with  a  tremendous  cheer  from 
the  Hall  whose  member  won  the  prize.  It  mat 
tered  not  whether  the  honor  was  one  for  which 
a  literary  society's  training  could  count;  they 

297 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


cheered  anyway,  whether  it  was  a  fellowship  in 
modern  languages  or  a  prize  in  the  School  of 
Science  draughtsmanship.  Nor  did  it  matter 
whether  the  man  had  never  since  the  first  week 
after  his  initiation  worked  the  combination 
lock  of  the  Hall  door.  They  cheered  him  any 
way.  And  when  the  two  societies  were  in  doubt 
as  to  which  he  belonged  to,  they  both  cheered. 
It  made  magnificent  noise. 

There  are  a  great  many  of  these  prizes.  One 
has  no  idea  until  Commencement  cornes  that 
there  are  so  many  advertised  in  the  catalogue  ; 
and  the  clerk  read  each  one  out  in  a  loud  voice, 
and  then  waited  for  the  cheering  to  cease. 

Dougal  Davis  had  heard  his  name  announced 
three  times,  and  each  time  the  cheer  rang  out 
from  the  enthusiastic  throng  in  the  rear  he  felt 
the  little  echoing  thrill  inside  of  him. 

Once  as  he  stepped  down  from  the  platform 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  man  leading  the  cheer 
for  him.  The  man's  back  was  turned,  but  he 
saw  him  standing  there  'way  up  on  the  railing 
of  the  pew  in  his  excitement,  and  he  saw  his 
arms  vigorously  jerking  out  the  cheer. 

Davis  was  used  to  this  sort  of  thing  and  he 
held  his  features  very  well,  though  as  he 
marched  up  for  the  third  time  he  felt  rather 
foolish,  for  the  audience  were  smiling  audibly  at 

298 


Man  that  Led  the  Class 


the  sight  of  Dougal  Davis,  of  Persia,  running  off 
with  so  many  prizes.  Timberly  asked  him 
when  he  came  down,  "  Why  don't  you  stay  up 
there,  Dougal  ?  I'd  sit  on  the  edge  platform 
and  swing  my  legs." 

It  was  only  at  the  announcement  of  the  Lynde 
prize  debate  that  he  felt  at  ah1  tremulous.  His 
friends  kept  telling  him  that  he  was  sure  of  it, 
but  he  felt  that  he  would  not  get  it.  This  is,  as 
everyone  knows,  the  greatest  inter-Hall  prize 
offered,  and  many  people  consider  it  the  great 
est  honor  of  a  college  lifetime.  It  was  quite 
enough  for  a  fellow  to  feel  weak  at  the  stom 
ach  over.  Dougal  kept  repeating  under  his 
breath,  "  What's  the  difference,  what's  the  dif 
ference  ?  "  and  he  reminded  himself  that  there 
were  a  second  and  a  third  prize  as  well  as  the 
first,  and  that  any  way,  even  if  he  won  none  of 
them,  it  was  a  pretty  fine  thing  to  have  secured 
the  appointment  from  his  Hall.  Besides,  he  was 
doing  so  many  things  that  he  could  afford  to 
drop  an  honor  or  two. 

"  The  Lynde  Prize  Debate,"  came  in  the  reso 
nant  tones  of  the  tall,  gaunt  clerk.  Everything 
was  very  still. 

The  cheerers  were  silent.  The  two  leaders 
were  standing  on  tip-toe,  each  with  his  elbows 
doubled  up  and  mouth  half  open,  ready  to  be- 

299 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


gin  the  cheer.  One  of  them,  however,  would 
have  to  keep  still.  Dougal  shut  his  lips. 

"  First  prize  awarded  to  Dougal  Davis,  of 
Pers- 

Then  came  the  loud,  eager  "'Bay!  'Kay! 
'Bay ! ' "  of  the  quick  cheer,  and  then  two  more 
quick  ones,  and  next  a  long  one  with  "Davis!" 
on  the  end,  then  the  word  "  Davis  !  Davis ! 
Davis ! "  that  way,  three  times.  Then  they 
began  giving  more  quick  cheers  again  and  a 
few  long  ones,  as  if  they  had  just  started. 

Meanwhile  the  clerk  kept  his  sober  gaze  upon 
the  paper  in  his  hand,  waiting  to  announce  the 
second  and  third  winners  and  pretending  to  be 
annoyed  at  the  delay,  though  enjoying  it  as 
much  as  any  girl  in  the  audience. 

"  Good  work,  Dougal,  good  work,"  cried  one 
of  the  four  fellows  pounding  him  on  the  back. 

Dougal  did  not  smile  slightly  or  look  uncon 
cerned.  He  grinned  all  over  his  face  and  en 
joyed  it.  As  soon  as  the  attention  was  taken 
away  from  him  he  leaned  back  in  the  corner  of 
the  pew  and  enjoyed  it  some  more.  That  is  the 
way  to  do. 

He  was  still  tense  and  excited  from  his  vic 
tory  when  a  few  minutes  later  he  heard  the 
clerk  reading  off  something  about  the  new  fel 
lowship  in  Political  Science.  This  was  the  one 

300 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


he  had  gone  in  for,  and  he  had  felt  doubtful  over 
the  result,  because  he  had  not  been  able  to  spend 
as  much  time  upon  it  as  he  wanted  to,  and  it  re 
quired  a  great  deal.  However,  the  only  other 
man  in  the  race  was  nothing  to  be  afraid  of. 
But  all  the  same  a  little  dart  of  dread  shot 
through  him  now,  and  he  thought  what  if  he 
should  lose  it  after  all.  It  would  not  do  at  all. 
This  was  what  he  wanted  more  than  any  of  the 
honors.  He  had  a  particular  reason  for  want 
ing  to  win  it.  This  he  failed  to  do. 

Before  he  was  quite  aware  of  what  was  taking 
place  the  clerk  had  already  made  the  announce 
ment  and  the  crowd  were  wildly  cheering,  cheer 
ing  that  other  fellow  as  if  they  had  never  heard 
of  Dougal  Davis.  He  felt  like  a  man  that  steps 
off  a  bridge  in  the  dark  ;  he  heard  the  splash  and 
felt  a  shock,  but  he  did  not  know  just  what  had 
happened.  He  had  never  been  beaten  in  any 
thing  before.  It  came  very  hard.  But  that  was 
not  what  made  it  hurt  so  much.  It  was  because 
Linton  had  won  it. 

He  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  little  speech 
he  had  planned  to  make  that  evening — -"  Well, 
you  see,  Jimmie,  I  haven't  time  for  it,  anyway.  I 
have  to  go  to  the  Seminary,  and  maybe  to  the 
Medical  College  after  that.  So  I  thought  I  would 
resign,  and  I  hope  you'll  apply  for  it  and  come 

301 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


back  to  the  old  place  for  another  year.  You're 
sure  to  get  it,  if  you  apply  for  it."  Wasn't  it  a 
pretty  little  speech  ? 

He  turned  and  glanced  over  at  Linton,  who 
sat  with  his  head  nestled  contentedly  against 
Reddy  Armstrong's  shoulder,  while  the  happy- 
looking  fellows  all  around  him  were  punching 
and  pounding  him  and  rumpling  up  his  hair  as 
if  they  never  would  cease  ;  and  as  if  they  were 
glad  Dougal  Davis  was  beaten.  Linton  him 
self  only  raised  his  eyebrows  and  shook  his 
head  deprecatingly.  He  seemed  to  take  it  all 
very  easily,  as  if  he  were  accustomed  to  win 
ning  prizes  and  beating  Dougal  Davis,  and  he 
still  wore  that  imperturbable  look,  and  Davis 
knew  that  it  would  have  been  just  as  impertur 
bable  and  contented  looking  if  he  had  lost. 

And  this  spoiled  the  salutatorian's  day  of 
triumph.  He  did  not  glance  back  now  to  where 
his  sister  and  aunt  were  sitting.  He  forgot  to 
unroll  his  sheepskin  as  the  others  did  when 
they  came  down  from  the  stage  with  them.  He 
blew  his  breath  through  it  against  the  palm  of 
his  hand  and  looked  absent-mindedly  at  the 
scratched  paint  of  the  old-fashioned  pew.  He 
remained  thus  all  through  Smith's  valedictory, 
except  once  when  the  speaker  stretched  out  both 
arms  and  the  class  arose  ;  then  he  listened  for  a 

302 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


moment  and  said,  "Biff!"  under  his  breath. 
When  it  was  all  over  he  passed  out  with  his  class 
and  through  the  gazing  throng,  thinking  not  of 
the  much  that  he  had  won,  but  only  of  the  one 
thing  he  had  lost,  and  this  was  unfortunate,  be 
cause  much  people  were  looking  at  him  and 
thinking  how  fine  it  was  to  be  Davis,  and  that  is 
fame,  and  it  was  too  bad  to  miss  it. 

Linton  had  no  ambition  and  he  colored  meer 
schaum  beautifully.  He  was  usually  mum  in  a 
crowd,  but  he  was  fine  company  on  a  long 
cross-country  walk,  and  he  knew  more  about 
ordering  a  dinner  than  any  man  on  the  campus, 
except  one  of  the  faculty. 

When  he  did  not  want  you  in  his  room  he 
told  you  so,  and  he  was  the  kind  of  a  fellow  you 
would  do  anything  for  after  you  came  to  know 
him. 

He  had  a  very  efficient  sense  of  humor,  which 
does  not  mean  that  he  said  funny  things  at  the 
table.  Some  people  thought  him  sarcastic.  But 
many  fellows  went  to  him  for  advice  or  sym 
pathy,  and  it  was  not  only  because  he  could  keep 
his  mouth  absolutely  closed. 

Linton  had  a  walking  acquaintance  with  every 
road,  lane,  and  pathway  within  a  radius  of  twenty 
miles  of  the  campus.  He  knew  how  long  it  took 

303 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


to  cover  any  route,  and  where  there  were  good 
places  to  stop  and  rest,  especially  the  quaint 
ones  where  they  served  it  in  mugs. 

Here  he  used  to  sit  and  sip  and  smoke  the 
golden  afternoon  away,  dreaming  of  how  it  all 
must  have  been  years  ago  in  the  old  stage  coach 
days  when  the  horses  drew  up  on  the  clattering 
cobble-stones  and  the  passengers  alighted  and 
looked  about  and  asked  how  many  more  miles 
it  was,  and  the  red-faced  driver  jumped  down 
from  the  box  and  swaggered  into  the  tap-room, 
and  called  for  a  pint  of  ale,  and  told  the  landlord 
how  bad  the  pike  was  near  New  Brunswick. 

He  considered  himself  somewhat  of  an  artist. 
There  were  ever  so  many  bits  that  he  was  fond 
of  showing  you  if  he  thought  you  could  appre 
ciate  them  ;  like  the  bend  in  the  canal  up  tow 
ard  Baker's  basin,  with  peculiar  water  and  wil 
low-coloring  in  springtime.  Linton  said  it  was 
like  a  French  water-color.  He  used  to  carry  a 
gun  over  his  shoulder,  and  say  he  was  going 
snipe-shooting  ;  really  it  was  to  look  for  things 
like  this,  and  get  up  a  big  appetite  for  dinner. 
He  could  also  point  out  a  view  of  gentle  hills 
and  rolling  green  fields  on  the  way  to  Kingston 
that  was  a  good  imitation  of  English  landscape, 
he  said,  and  he  knew  just  where  the  tower  of 
the  School  of  Science  ought  to  make  an  effect 

304 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


through  treetops,  like  the  view  of  Magdalen 
tower  from  a  point  in  Addison's  walk,  if  it  were 
only  beautiful  Gothic  instead  of  ugly  Kenais- 
sauce.  But  perhaps  all  this  was  merely  to  show 
that  he  had  once  canoed  down  the  Thames  from 
Oxford  to  London. 

He  was  very  well  up  in  the  ancient  history  of 
the  town,  also.  He  knew  all  about  most  of  the 
old  houses,  and  he  had  sketches  of  the  best  of 
the  old  brass-knockers  and  colonial  doorways. 
It  is  said  that  he  used  to  prowl  about  on  moon 
light  nights  for  this  purpose.  Small  window- 
panes  were  another  thing  he  was  insane  o\er. 
He  had  substituted  for  the  ordinary  panes  of 
his  windows,  dingy  little  square  ones  with  thick 
frames  painted  black.  Some  of  the  fellows  said 
the  reason  he  did  this  was  to  be  odd.  Linton 
blew  smoke,  and  said  yes,  that  was  the  reason. 

But  it  was  the  old  campus  that  he  loved  the 
most.  He  knew  just  about  all  there  was  to  find 
out  about  it,  and  dreamed  a  great  deal  more. 

He  had  ever  so  many  favorite  aspects,  such 
as  the  one  of  the  back  of  the  Dean's  house — with 
small,  square  window-panes — from  away  over  at 
a  point  between  Whig  and  Clio  Halls,  and  the 
rear  view  of  Prospect  across  the  stretch  of  slop 
ing  meadow  toward  the  canal,  and  a  number  of 
congenial  little  spots  that  meant  something  to 

305 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


him,  like  the  stone  buttress  at  the  bottom  of  the 
tower  of  Witherspoon,  a  great  place  to  warm 
your  back  against  in  spring  sunshine,  with  the 
blue  smoke  trickling  lazily  from  your  mouth  and 
the  fellows  batting  up  flies  on  the  old  diamond ; 
and  then  for  midnight  chats  there  were  the 
smooth  steps  of  chapel  with  the  elms  saying 
things  in  low  tones  overhead.  But  those  mid 
night  chats  were  all  over  now.  It  was  Com 
mencement  Day,  and  it  was  the  saddest  thing 
that  had  ever  happened  to  Linton. 

He  was  not  at  all  anxious  to  spring  forth  into 
the  world  and  battle  with  opportunity  and  all 
the  other  things  that  the  class-day  speakers  and 
the  valedictorian  said  that  he  was  going  to  do. 
He  thought  this  little  world  was  good  enough 
for  him,  and  there  wasn't  much  spring  in  him. 

Ever  since  he  could  read  he  had  been  told 
that  youth  was  the  happiest  time  in  life,  and  he 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  must  be  so. 
He  did  not  like  the  idea  of  giving  it  up.  He 
had  become  well  settled  where  he  was,  and  had 
just  gotten  rid  of  a  persistent  siege  of  kid-pessi 
mism — of  which  he  was  now  very  much  ashamed 
— and  was  just  beginning  to  realize  what  a  big, 
beautiful,  real  thing  friendship  was,  and  now — 
Jack  and  Timber  and  Billy  and  Red,  where 
would  they  all  be  in  three  days'  time?  It 

306 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


seemed  pretty  sudden,  this  thing  of  breaking 
up. 

And  there  was  very  little  comfort  to  him  in 
the  thought  of  coming  back  next  year.  What 
would  the  old  place  be  without  the  old  class. 
He  did  not  like  to  think  about  it. 

It  struck  the  class  as  a  pretty  joke  for  Jimmie 
Linton  to  bob  up  and  win  a  fellowship.  "  How 
did  you  happen  to  do  it?  "  said  Tucker,  on  the 
way  out  of  church.  "  I  didn't  know  you  had 
any  brains." 

"  Didn't  you  ?  "  said  Linton  ;  "  I've  quite  a  lot 
of  them.  And  I  worked  like  a  good  little  boy 
for  that  fellowship  ;  but  nobody  will  give  me  any 
credit  for  it.  They  all  know  that  if  Dougal 
hadn't  been  too  busy  with  other  things,  I  would 
have  had  no  show."  He  was  quite  right.  There 
was  nothing  modest  in  this.  Dougal  Davis  had 
about  as  good  powers  of  acquisition  as  anyone 
graduated  since  the  time  of  Aaron  Burr. 

Political  science  was  not  strictly  in  Linton's 
line.  He  wrote  things  for  the  Lit.,  and  elected 
all  the  English  courses.  He  was  a  great  brows 
er  in  Elizabethan  literature,  and  when  he  dab 
bled  in  verse  this  was  evident.  One  of  the 
exchanges  once  called  him  a  nineteenth  cen 
tury  Herrick.  Linton  felt  right  pleased,  and 
wrote  something  nice  about  the  University  of 

307 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


Virginia  man  that  said  it  in  the  next  Lit.,  and 
also  made  it  an  excuse  to  give  one  of  his  famous 
spreads.  You  would  have  expected  him  to  go  in 
for  an  English  fellowship,  if  for  any.  But  he 
did  not  go  in  for  any  deliberately.  He  was  not 
in  the  habit  of  studying  his  courses  more  than 
enough  to  get  through  the  examinations,  except 
when  he  ran  across  something  he  was  interested 
in,  or  a  professor  he  liked.  There  are  many  ex 
cuses  for  laziness. 

In  Political  Economy,  and  such  subjects, 
he  liked  the  lecturer  very  much,  and  he  found 
himself  becoming  interested  in  the  primitive 
man,  and  the  origin  of  society,  and  all  that.  The 
farther  he  went  in  the  course,  the  more  inter 
ested  he  became.  He  went  to  the  library,  and 
often  walked  past  the  Elizabethan  alcove.  Next 
he  began  buying  the  books,  because  he  liked  to 
feel  that  he  owned  them,  and  rub  them  up 
against  his  cheek,  and  he  soon  had  a  shelf  full 
of  Bagehot  and  big,  thick  Sir  Henry  Maine  and 
others. 

Then  because  he  had  never  done  anything 
serious  during  his  course,  and  because  he  knew 
it  would  please  his  people  and  amuse  the  fel 
lows,  he  announced  his  intention  of  trying  for 
the  Political  Science  fellowship.  There  was  no 
one  else  in  for  it. 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


He  went  about  it  scientifically,  and  was  sur 
prised  to  find  how  much  enthusiasm  he  had 
aroused  in  himself.  He  had  never  known  be 
fore  what  a  fine  thing  study  was.  He  said  he 
wished  he  had  done  more  of  it  during  his  col 
lege  course. 

He  was  surprised  when  he  heard  a  few  weeks 
later  that  Dougal  Davis  was  in  the  field.  His 
torical  work  he  thought  was  still  further  out  of 
Davis's  line.  But  he  only  rolled  over  on  the 
divan  and  went  on  reading.  For  he  .  argued 
thus  :  "  I  like  this  stuff  and  I  don't  see  how  it 
can  hurt  me  to  learn  a  lot  about  something.  If 
I  don't  fetch  a  fellowship  I  won't  have  to  correct 
examination  papers.  I'd  hate  to  correct  exam 
ination  papers." 

One  day  at  the  club  he  asked  Dougal — he  sat 
opposite — what  he  wanted  with  political  sci 
ence.  Davis  cleared  his  throat  and  said  every 
preacher  of  modern  times  should  know  some 
thing  of  sociology,  which  was  undoubtedly  true. 
But  that  was  not  the  reason.  And  somehow 
Linton  guessed  it. 

It  wras  twilight  and  the  class  had  gathered  to 
gether  on  the  steps  of  Old  North  for  their  last 
senior  singing.  Only  they  were  no  longer  sen 
iors  ;  it  was  "  by  and  by  "  now,  and  they  were 

309 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


out  in  the  "  wide,  wide  world."  They  huddled 
up  close  together  as  if  half  frightened  at  the 
thought  of  its  being  the  last  time. 

There  were  but  few  undergrads.  stretched 
out  under  the  elms  to  listen,  and  most  of  these 
were  the  juniors — seniors  they  were  now — wait 
ing  to  rapaciously  take  possession  of  the  steps 
the  moment  the  present  occupants  marched  off 
for  their  last  supper  together  at  nightfall. 
These  and  a  handful  of  the  out-of-town  visitors 
were  all  that  were  left  of  the  big  Commencement 
crowds  that  had  been  gathering  there  every 
evening  to  hear  the  seniors  sing.  Sometimes 
they  had  felt  that  they  would  have  preferred 
being  left  a  little  more  to  themselves,  if  it  were 
possible,  during  the  last  days  of  college  life. 

But  now  this  unmolested  aloneness  only 
added  to  their  dreariness  and  made  them  feel 
the  ghastly  certainty  of  this  evening's  being  the 
end  of  all.  The  grass  was  trampled  and  faded, 
and  the  crowd  that  had  trodden  it  was  gone. 
The  bell  in  Old  North  belfry  rang  out  painfully 
loud. 

"  Well,  fellows,  let's  sing,"  said  the  leader, 
rising  slowly.  He  raised  his  chin  and  then 
bobbed  his  head  and  started  up,  "  The  Orange 
and  the  Black,"  just  as  they  had  all  seen  him 
do  many  times  before. 

310 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


They  sang  as  they  had  never  sung  before, 
It  did  not  matter  what  were  the  words  of  the 
song.  "They  stole  his  wallet,  they  stole  his 
staff,"  had  nothing  in  it  that  was  especially  apro^ 
pos  of  college  friendships  or  the  sadness  of  fare 
well,  but  the  way  they  sang  it,  with  the  long- 
drawn  "  Ramski  Ho,"  meant  something.  It  was 
so  full  of  association.  And  no  one  noticed  this 
time  whether  the  man  behind  him  was  on  a  key 
of  his  own.  His  only  thought  was,  "  When  shall 
I  hear  Billy's  good  old  bark  again  after  to 
night  ?  "  And  when  Sam's  and  Avhen  Ed's  and 
Big  Hill's  and  Little  Hill's  and  where  would  be 
the  fellow  a  year  from  nowr  whose  shoulder  wras 
next  to  his  own. 

During  the  past  month  or  two  the  class  of 
Ninety  Blank  had  been  drawn  veiy  close  to 
gether  by  the  thought  of  what  was  coming. 
They  had  never  been  very  seriously  cliqued  up, 
but  what  there  was  of  dissension  was  forgotten, 
and  they  were  now  one  solid  crowd.  Fellows 
who  had  never  anything  to  do  with  each  other 
before  except  to  say,  "  Hello,  there,  Ray !  "  and 
"  Hello,  Harry  !  "  had  taken  to  strolling  around 
the  campus  together  arm-in-arm  talking  about 
what  they  were  going  to  do  next  year  and  won 
dering  why  they  had  never  happened  to  see 
more  of  each  other  in  the  past,  and  regretting 

311 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


that  there  were  to  be  no  opportunities  for  doing 
so  in  the  future. 

But  during  the  excitement  of  Commencement 
week,  with  the  crowds  of  old  grads.  and  of  girls 
and  the  big  baseball  game  and  the  concerts  and 
Class  Day  full  of  its  exhibition  farewells  in  the 
church  and  around  the  cannon,  and  the  teas  and 
the  big  dance  011  Tuesday  night,  and  the  many 
other  things  that  filled  up  every  moment  of 
every  day  and  night — together  with  the  respon 
sibility  of  seeing  to  the  entertainment  of  their 
guests — all  this,  and  the  feeling  of  importance 
at  being  the  cause  of  so  much  color  and  sound 
had  in  a  measure  distracted  their  minds  from 
the  thought  of  what  it  all  meant.  But  now  all 
that  was  changed. 

The  last  of  the  display  ceremonies  was  fin 
ished.  The  class  had  their  diplomas.  It  was 
all  over.  The  rollicking  old  grads.  with  their 
many  reunions  and  their  old-fashioned  cheers 
and  their  funny  songs  had  left  for  the  city  and 
business  again  for  a  year.  The  girls  and  their 
mothers  and  their  parasols  had  vanished  like 
the  Chinese  lanterns  among  the  trees.  The 
campus  was  almost  deserted,  and  except  for  their 
own  voices,  was  as  still  as  a  cemetery.  Each 
man  on  the  steps  was  realizing  as  he  never  had 
done  before  how  glad  had  been  those  four  years, 

313 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


and  how  startlingly  fast  they  had  sped  by,  and 
how  much  more  these  friends  of  his  meant  to  him 
than  he  had  ever  imagined  friends  could  mean. 

Two  of  the  number  had  been  obliged  to  pack 
their  trunks  and  depart  during  the  afternoon 
without  waiting  for  the  banquet.  The  whole 
class  were  at  the  station  to  see  them  off.  They 
did  it  in  the  old-fashioned  way,  with  much  cheer 
ing  and  singing,  and  the  old  custom  of  lifting 
them  up  and  putting  them  through  the  car  win 
dows.  Then  after  each  man  had  shaken  the 
hands  of  those  departing,  and  said,  "  God  bless 
you,  Tommy,"  they  had  watched  while  the  little 
train  rolled  down  the  grade  and  became  smaller 
and  smaller,  and  they  cheered  until  the  two  men 
waving  their  hats  on  the  rear  platform  were  hid 
den  behind  the  curve.  Then  they  marched  sol 
emnly  back  across  the  campus  again,  and  trieu 
to  go  on  with  the  packing  of  their  own  trunks. 

But  few  had  been  able  to  remain  very  long  in 
the  lonely,  old,  familiar  dens.  There  were  too 
many  things  to  suggest  the  old  times  which  sent 
big  wedges  into  throats,  and  they  realized  that 
there  were  to  be  few  enough  opportunities  of 
being  with  those  fellows  out  under  the  trees  to 
waste  time  in  dreary  packing.  "  It's  too  deuced 
hot  up  there  in  my  room,"  said  Harry  Lawrence 
to  Billy  Nolan. 

313 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


For  the  most  part  they  had  spent  the  after 
noon  in  silent,  moody  wanderings,  in  groups  of 
twos  and  fours  and  half  dozens,  all  about  the 
old,  dear,  familiar  landmarks  of  the  campus. 
Now  at  evening  they  were  gathered  together  as 
a  body  again.  This  was  to  be  the  last  time. 
And  that  thought  kept  recurring  to  each  man  on 
the  steps. 

It  was  about  dusk  now.  The  front  campus 
was  wrapped  in  that  strange  half -glow  that  some 
times  comes  at  late  senior  singing  time.  It  was 
very  much  in  keeping  with  other  elements  of  the 
scene,  and  it  had  its  effect  upon  the  fellows. 

Old  North  seemed  solemn  and  dignified,  but 
somehow  more  gentle  and  caressable  than  for 
merly.  Even  the  old  elms,  who  have  seen  this 
thing  happen  so  many,  many  times,  ceased 
whispering  for  a  space  and  listened.  John,  the 
college  policeman,  left  Reunion  for  his  home 
down  William  Street,  and  Sam,  the  night  watch 
man,  said,  "  Good-night,  John,"  and  took  his 
place.  Bill  Leggett  took  down  his  lantern  and 
started  around  to  light  the  campus  lamps  as  he 
always  did  at  this  hour.  The  village  street 
seemed  far  off,  and  its  lights  and  its  bit  of  life 
seemed  part  of  another  world.  There  was  a 
pause  in  the  singing. 

It   lasted  a  long   time.     Tucker   scratched  a 

814 


The  Man  tbat  Led  the  Class 


match  on  the  stone  steps.  The  crack  seemed 
very  loud.  Those  near  by  turned  and  watched 
him  light  his  pipe  and  watched  him  throw  the 
match  to  the  ground.  It  kept  on  burning  for 
a  little  while.  They  watched  it  until  it  went 
out. 

Presently  Doc.  Devereaux,  the  leader,  said, 
"  Fellows,  there  are  a  lot  of  chairs  and  benches 
scattered  about.  Let's  drag  them  up  here  in 
front  of  the  steps  and  make  a  circle."  They 
all  arose  and  did  it  as  if  it  had  been  a  com 
mand. 

The  rattling  of  the  chairs  against  each  other 
sounded  harsh  and  discordant,  and  yet  no  one 
seemed  to  want  to  lessen  it.  Some  of  the  fellows 
laughed  and  joked  a  little,  as  though  they  weren't 
thinking  of  anything  serious.  It  made  a  large 
circle.  They  sat  down  in  comparative  silence. 
The  Class  President  arose  and  said,  "  Say,  fel 
lows,  let's  sing  '  Here's  to  you,  my  jovial  friend,' 
all  around  the  class,  and  each  man  stand  up 
while  we're  singing  to  him." 

They  started  with  the  President  and  went 
around  to  the  left.  You  know  that  drinking 
song.  It's  a  simple  little  salute,  but  there's  more 
heart  in  its  swelling  high  notes  than  in  anything 
ever  written.  But  perhaps  that  is  because  of 
its  association. 

315 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


"  Here's  to  you,  Jack  Stehman,"  they  sang. 

"  Here's  to  you,  my  jovial  friend, 
And  we'll  drink  with  all  our  heart, 
For  sake  of  company — 
We'll  drink  before  we  part, 
Here's  to  you,  Jack  Stehinan." 

Stehman,  the  President,  had  arisen  when  his 
name  was  called,  and  remained  standing  while 
the  song  was  carried  through.  The  big  fellow 
seemed  to  loom  up  bigger  than  ever  in  the  half 
dark.  He  arose  with  his  old,  well-known  slouch, 
and  the  sight  of  this  little  characteristic  brought 
up  to  every  one  of  them  the  whole  big,  lovable 
personality  of  the  man. 

He  started  to  look  around  at  the  fellows  and 
smile  as  they  began  to  sing,  but  the  clear,  warm 
notes  rang  out,  "  We'll  drink  before  we  part," 
and  he  changed  his  mind  and  looked  down 
at  the  grass  under  his  feet.  He  was  not  em 
barrassed.  He  merely  preferred  looking  down. 
It  was  so  different  from  Class  Day,  when  he  had 
made  his  much -applauded  President's  address, 
and  told  people  in  his  nice  set  speech  about  the 
sadness  of  farewell  and  the  beauty  of  the  elms. 
He  was  the  one  all  the  girls  had  asked  the  most 
questions  about.  The  class  censor  had  guyed 
him  about  his  brand  new  dignity  and  his  good 
31G 


The  Man  tbat  Led  the  Class 


looks.  Nobody  was  feeling  like  guying  him 
now. 

Little  Stacy  sat  next.  He  did  not  stand  up 
very  high.  There  was  not  much  to  him.  He 
had  been  a  poler  all  through  the  course,  and  you 
would  not  have  expected  the  thing  to  affect  him 
very  much,  but  you  could  see  his  thin  hands 
working  nervously  along  the  edge  of  his  coat 
as  he  looked  about  at  the  half-darkened  crowd 
of  faces,  and  he  smiled  his  foolish,  little,  self- 
conscious  smile.  The  little  chap  had  no  idea 
that  they  would  ever  sing  to  him  in  that  way, 
and  when  he  heard  Harry  Lawrence's  strong 
bass  come  out  with  "  And  we'll  drink  with  all 
our  heart,"  he  fairly  quivered.  When  he  sat 
down  the  President  reached  a  big  arm  about 
him. 

Then  came  Reddy  Armstrong.  He  was  not 
very  tall  either.  He  stood  up  very  straight  and 
stiff  with  his  round,  freckled  face  screwed  up 
into  funny  twists.  He  only  stared  straight 
ahead  into  nothing.  He  looked  dazed.  He  was 
dazed.  He  had  been  through  some  very  queer 
things  that  day.  "Poor  little  Red,"  thought 
Linton  as  he  looked  at  him. 

All  around  the  big  circle  went  the  song  until 
it  ended  with  Timberly,  who  sat  on  Stehman's 
right.  By  this  time  it  was  too  dark  to  see  Tim- 

317 


The  Man  that  Led  the  Class 


berly's  queer  features.     Perhaps  it  was  just  as 
well. 

"Now,"  said  the  President,  simply,  "let's  all 
cross  hands  and  sing  '  Auld  Lang  Syne.'  Doc., 
start  it  up,  please." 

They  arose,  and  each  man  gave  his  right-hand 
comrade  his  left  hand,  and  his  left-hand  comrade 
his  right,  and  they  sang  the  good  old  song  in 
the  good  old  way,  with  the  clasped  hands  swing 
ing  far  up  and  down  in  time  to  the  music. 

Presently  the  song  was  finished.  It  seemed 
to  stop  suddenly.  They  all  waited  a  moment  in 
silence  to  see  whether  the  leader  had  another 
verse  to  begin. 

But  he  did  not.  Jack  Stehman  stepped  out 
into  the  middle  of  the  ring.  "Now,  fellows,"  he 
said,  "  let's  give  three  good  rousing  cheers  for 
the  dear  old  class — God  bless  every  man  in  it — 
and  then  we'll  give  up  the  steps  to  the  jun 
iors —  the  seniors  I  mean  —  and  march  four 
abreast  to  the  dinner.  Are  you  ready  ?  Hip ! 
hip !  .  .  .  another  one — Hip  !  hip  !  " 

Linton  was  standing  apart  over  beside  the 
steps.  His  back  was  turned  toward  the  others. 

While  the  rest  were  cheering,  Dougal  Davis 
crossed  over  to  him. 

"Jim,"  he  said,  "I  haven't  congratulated  you 
yet  on  winning  the  fellowship." 
318 


The  Man  tbat  Led  tbe  Class 

Linton  kept  on  looking  at  the  newly  planted 
class  ivy.  His  hands  were  in  his  pockets  and 
his  legs  spread  apart. 

"  Did  you  notice  that  I  hadn't,  Jim  ?  " 

Liriton  turned  around  suddenly.  "  Oh,  yes,  I 
noticed  it.  Bat  that  was  this  morning."  He 
put  his  hand  on  Davis's  shoulder  as  in  junior 
year. 

"  Shut  up,  Dongal,"  he  said  ;  "  we  haven't  any 
time  to  waste  in  talk." 

"  All  right,"  said  Dougal.  "  Don't  let's  be  left 
behind.  They  are  starting."  He  laughed  a  lit 
tle.  It  was  a  foolish-sounding  laugh.  Linton 
did  not  observe  that.  He  laughed  also,  in  very 
much  the  same  way. 

They  stepped  in  line  with  the  others  and 
marched  off  the  campus  singing,  with  all  their 
might, 

44  Nassau!  Nassau  !  Ring  out  the  chorus  free. 
Nnssau  !  Nassau !  Thy  jolly  sous  are  we. 
Care  shall  be  forgotten,  all  our  sorrows  flung 
While  we  are  marching  thro'  Princeton.'' 


319 


BRIEF  LIST  of  Books  of  Fiction  Published 
by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  153-  157 
Fifth  Avenue,  New  York. 


William  Waldorf  Astor. 

Valentino:    An  Historical  Romance,     i2mo,   $1.00.     Sforza :     A 

Story  of  Milan.      12 mo,  $1.50. 

"  The  story  is  full  of  clear-cut  little  tableaux  of  mediaeval  Italian 
manners,  customs  and  observances.  The  movement  throughout  is 
spirited,  the  reproduction  of  bygone  times  realistic." 

—  The  New   York   Tribune. 

Arlo  Bates. 

A  Wheel  of  Fire.     i2mo,  paper,  5<>cts.;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"The  novel  deals  with  character  rather  than  incident,  and  is  evolved 
from  one  of  the  most  terrible  of  moral  problems  with  a  sublety  not 
unlike  that  of  Hawthorne."—  The  Critic. 

W.  H.  Bisbop. 

A  Pound  of  Cure.     i2mo,  $1.00. 

"A  powerful  and  purposeful  story,  clean  and  strong  and  interesting 
throughout." — The  Churchman. 

Hjalmar  H.  Bqyesen. 

Falconberg.  Illustrated.  I2mo,  $1.50.  Gunnar.  Sq.  i2mo, 
paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.25.  Tales  from  Two  Hemispheres. 
Sq.  i2mo,  $1.00.  Ilka  on  the  Hill  Top,  and  Other  Stories. 
Sq.  i2mo,  $1.00.  Queen  Titania*  Sq.  i2mo,  $1.00.  Social 
Strugglers.  i2mo,  $1.25. 

"Mr.  Boyesen's  stories  possess  a  sweetness,  a  tenderness  and  a 
drollery  that  are  fascinating,  and  yet  they  are  no  more  attractive  than 
they  are  strong." — The  Home  Journal. 

Robert  Bridges. 

Overheard  in  Arcady.     jsmo,  illustrated,  $1.25. 

"  The  cleverest  book  of  the  year.  Aside  from  the  humor,  it  is  a  keen 
and  subtile  criticism  of  living  authors." — Atlanta  Constitution. 

Noab  Brooks. 

Tales  of  the  Maine  Coast.     i2mo,  $1.00. 

"  They  are  all  good  ;  '  Pansy  Pegg'  is  a  classic.  Hawthorne  did  few, 
If  any,  better  things  than  '  A  Century  Ago.'  "—Boston  Advertiser. 


SCRIBNER'S    BRIEF    LIST    OF    FICTION. 


H.  C.  Bunner. 

The  Story  of  a  New  York   House.     Illustrated  by  A.  B.  Frost. 

12010,  $1.25.     The  Midge.     12010,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $:.oo. 

Zadoc  Pine,  and  Other  Stories.     i2mo,  pap.,  50  cts. ;  clo.,  $1.00. 

"It   is   Mr.   Bunner's  delicacy   of  touch   and  appreciation  of  what  is 

literary   art  that   give   his   writings  distinctive   quality.     Everything  Mr. 

Bunner  paints  shows  the  happy  appreciation  of  an  author  who  has  not 

alone  mental  discernment,  but  the  artistic  appreciation." — N.   Y,  Times. 

Frances  Hodgson  Burnett. 

That  Lasso'  Lowrie's.  Illustrated.  Paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.2=5. 
Haworth's,  Illustrated.  121110,  $1.25.  Through  One  Admin 
istration.  i2mo,  $1.50.  Louisiana.  12010,  $1.25.  A  Fair 
Barbarian.  i2mo,  paper,  50  cts.,  cloth,  $1.25.  Vagabondia  ; 
A  Love  Story.  i2tno,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.25.  Surly  Tim, 
and  Other  Stones.  12010,  $1.25.  Earlier  Stories.  First  Series. 
Earlier  Stories.  Second  Series.  12010,  each,  paper,  so  cts.; 
cloth,  $1.25.  The  Pretty  Sister  of  Jose.  Illustrated  by  C.  S. 
Reinhart.  12010,  $1.00. 

Little  Lord  Fauntleroy.  Sq.  8vo,  $2  oo.  Sara  Crewe;  Sq. 
8vo,  $1.00.  Little  Saint  Elizabeth,  and  Other  Stories.  Sq. 
8vo,  $1.50.  Giovanni  and  the  Other.  Sq.  8vo,  $2.00.  Illus 
trated  by  R.  B.  Birch. 

"  Mrs.  Burnett  discovers  gracious  secrets  in  rough  and  forbidding 
natures — the  sweetness  that  often  underlies  their  bitterness — the  soul  of 
goodness  in  things  evil.  She  seems  to  have  an  intuitive  perception  of 
character." — RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD. 


William  Allen  Butler. 

Domesticus.     A  Tale  of  the  Imperial  City.     I2mo,  $1,25. 

George  W.  Cable. 

The    Grandissimes*      I2mo,   paper,    50  cts.,   cloth,   $1.25.     Old 

Creole    Days.     i2mo,    cloth,  $1.25  ;  also  in   two   parts,  paper, 

each,  30  cts.     Dr.  Sevier.     12010,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.25, 

'•    Bonaventure.     12010,  paper,  50  cts  ;  $1.25.     The  set,  4  vols.t 

$5.00.     John  March,  Southerner.    (In  Press.} 
"  There  are  few  living  American  writers  who  can  reproduce  for  us  more 
perfectly  than    Mr.    Cable   does,    in   his   best  moments,  the  speech,  the 
manners,  the  whole   social   atmosphere  of  a  remote  time  and  a  peculiar 
people.     A  delicious  flavor  of  humor  penetrates  his  stories." 

—  The  New  York  Tribime. 


SCRIBNER'S   BRIEF   LIST  OF   FICTION.  3 

Rebecca  Harding  Da-vis. 

Silhouettesof  American  Life.     i2mo,  paper,  so  cts.;  cloth, $1.00. 

"There  are  altogether  thirteen  stories  in  the  volume,  all  written  in  that 
direct,  forcible  style  which  is  Mrs.  Davis's  distinctive  merit  as  a  producer  of 
fiction." — Boston  Beacon. 

Richard  Harding  Davis. 

Gallagher,  and  Other  Stories,     ismo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"The  freshness,  the  strength,  and  the  vivid  picturesqueness  of  the 
stories  are  indisputable,  and  their  originality  and  their  marked  distinction 
are  no  less  decided." — Boston  Saturday  Gazette. 

Paul  Du  Cbaillu. 

Ivar  the  Viking.     12010,  $1.50. 

"  The  story  of  a  typical  Norseman  in  the  third  and  fourth  centuries.  The 
volume  is  a  thrilling  and  an  interesting  one." — Boston  Advertiser. 

Edward  Eggleston. 

Roxy.     The  Circuit   Rider.     Illustrated.     Each,   i2mo,  81.50. 

"  Dr.  Eggleston's  fresh  and  vivid  portraiture  of  a  phase  of  life  and 
manners  hitherto  almost  unrepresented  in  literature  ;  its  boldly  contrasted 
characters,  and  its  unconventional,  hearty,  religious  spirit,  took  hold  of  the 
public  imagination." — The  Christian  Union. 

Erckmann-Cbatrian . 

The  Conscript.  Illustrated.  Waterloo.  Illustrated.  Sequel  to  The 
Conscript.  Madame  Therese.  The  Blockade  of  Phalsburg. 
Illustrated  The  Invasion  of  France  in  1814.  Illustrated.  A 
Miller's  Story  of  the  War.  Illustrated. 

7 'he  National  Aroveis,  each,  $'1.25  ;  the  set,  6  vols.,  $7.50. 

Friend  Fritz.     i2ino,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.25. 

Harold  Frederic. 

Seth's  Brother's  Wife;  12010,  81.25.  The  Lawton  Girl^  i2mo, 
$1.25  ;  paper,  50  cts.  In  the  Valley^  Illustrated.  i2mo,  $1.50. 
The  Copperhead.  i2mo,  $1.00.  Marsena,  and  Other  Stories. 
i2rno,  $1.00. 

"  It  is  always  a  pleasure  to  welcome  a  vigorous  new-comer  in  literature, 
and  the  talents  of  Mr.  Frederic  abundantly  entitle  him  to  this  description. 
Mr.  Frederic  is  a  realist  and  his  work  is  well  done." — Boston  Post. 


4  SCRIBNER'S  BRIEF  LIST  OF  FICTION. 

Eugene  Field. 

A  Little  Book  of  Profitable  Tales.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

"  This  pretty  little  volume  promises  to  perpetuate  examples  of  a  wit, 
humor  and  pathos,  quaint  and  rare  in  their  kind." — New  York  Tribune. 

James  Anthony  Froude. 

The  Two  Chiefs  of  Dunboy.  An  Irish  Romance  of  the  Last 
Century.  121110,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.50. 

' '  The  narrative  is  full  of  vigor,  spirit  and  dramatic  power.  It  will 
unquestionably  be  widely  read,  for  it  presents  a  vivid  and  life-like  study  of 
character  with  romantic  color,  and  adventurous  incident  for  the  back 
ground." —  The  New  York  Tribune. 

Robert  Grant. 

Face  to  Face,     121110,  paper,  5octs.;   cloth,  $1.25.     The  Reflec 
tions  of  a  Married  Man.     12010,  paper,  50  cts.;   cloth,  $1.00. 
The  Opinions  of  a  Philosopher.     121110,  illustrated,  $1.00. 
"  In  the  '  Reflections,'  Mr.  Grant  has  given  us  a  capital  little  book  which 
should   easily   strike   up   literary  comradeship  with    '  The    Reveries  of  a 
Bachelor.'  " — Boston  Transcript. 

Ed-ward  Everett  Hale. 

Philip  Nolan's  Friends.  Illust'd.   lamo,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.50. 
"There  is  no  question,  we  think,  that  this  is  Mr.  Male's  completest  and 
best  novel." — The  Atlantic  Monthly. 

Marion  Harland. 

Judith.  i2mo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00.  Handicapped. 
i2mo,  $1.50.  With  the  Best  Intentions.  lamo,  cloth,  $1.00; 
paper,  50  cts. 

"Fiction  has  afforded  no  more  charming  glimpses  of  old  Virginia  life 
than  are  found  in  this  delightful  story,  with  its  quaint  pictures,  its  admir 
ably  drawn  characters,  its  wit,  and  its  frankness." 

—  The  Brooklyn  Daily  Times. 

Joel  Chandler  Harris. 

Free   Joe,    and  Other  Georgian   Sketches.     lamo,  paper,  50  cts.; 

cloth,  $1.00. 

"The  author's  skill  as  a  story  writei  has  never  been  more  felicitously 
illustrated  than  in  this  volume." — The  New  York  Sun. 

Augustus  Allen  Hayes. 

The  Jesuit's  Ring.     121110,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.00. 
"  The  conception  of  the  story  is  excellent." — The  Boston  Traveller. 


SCRIBNER'S  BRIEF   LIST  OF   FICTION.  5 

George  A.  Hibbard. 

The   Governor,   and  Other  Stories.     i2mo,    cloth,    $1.00;  paper, 

50  cts. 

"It  is  still  often  urged  that,  except  in  remote  corners,  there  is  nothing 
in  our  American  life  which  appeals  to  the  artistic  sense,  but  certainly  these 
stories  are  American  to  the  core,  and  yet  the  artistic  sense  is  strong  in  them 
throughout." — Critic. 

Dr.  J.  G.  Holland. 

Sevenoaks.   The  Bay  Path.   Arthur  Bonnicastle.    Miss  Gilbert's 
Career;    Nicholas  Minturn*    Each,  !2mo,  $1.25;  the  set,  §6.25. 
Sevenoaks  and  Arthur  Bonnicastle.     Each,  paper,  50  cts. 
"Dr.  Holland  will  always  find  a  congenial  audience  in  the  homes  of 
culture  and  refinement.     He  does  not  affect  the  play  of  the  darker  and 
fiercer  passions,  but  delights  in  the  sweet  images  that  cluster  around  the 
domestic  hearth.     He  cherishes  a  strong  fellow-feeling  with  the  pure  and 
tranquil  life  in  the  modest  social  circles  of  the  American  people,  and  has 
thus  won  his  way  to  the  companionship  of  many  friendly  hearts." 

—  The  New  York  Tribune. 

Thomas  A.  Janvier. 

Color  Studies,  and  a   Mexican  Campaign.     121110  paper,  50  cts. ; 

cloth,  $1.00. 

' '  Piquant,  novel  and  ingenious,  these  little  stories,  with  all  their  simplicity, 
have  excited  a  wide  interest.  The  best  of  them,  'Jaune  D'Antimoine,'  is 
a  little  wonder  in  its  dramatic  effect,  its  ingenious  construction." — Critic. 

Henry  Kingsley. 

Ravenshoe.  Geoffrey  Hammond.  Austin  Elliott.  i2mo. 
(In  press.) 

George  P.  Latbrop. 

Newport.  121110,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.2=;.  An  Echo  of  Passion. 
12010,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00.  In  the  Distance.  i2mo, 
paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  His  novels  have  the  refinement  of  motive  which  characterize  the 
analytical  school,  but  his  manner  is  far  more  direct  and  dramatic." 

—  The  Christian  Union. 

Grander  Matthews. 

The  Secret  of  the  Sea,  and  Other  Stories.     I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.; 

cloth,  $1.00.     The  Last  Meeting.     i2mo,  cloth,  $1.00. 
"  Mr.  Matthews  is  a  man  of  wide  observation  and  of  much  familiarity 
with  the  world.     His  literary  style  is  bright  and  crisp,  with  a  peculiar 
sparkle  about  it — wit  and  humor  judiciously  mingled— which  renders  his 
pages  more  than  ordinarily  interesting.'' — The  Rochester  Post-Express. 


6  SCRIBNER'S   BRIEF   LIST  OF  FICTION. 

George  Meredith. 

Lord  Ormont  and  His  Aminta.     121710,  $1.50. 

"  A  novel  for  which  the  lover  of  literature  will  do  well  to  put  up  his 
hands  and,  in  the  words  of  the  old  grace,  be  '  truly  thankful.'" 

— Pall  Mall  Budget. 

George  Moore. 

Vain  Fortune.     121110,  $1.00. 

"How  a  woman's  previous  ideas  and  actions  will  completely  change 
when  the  medium  of  a  wild,  intense  love  is  interposed,  was  never  more 
skillfully  sketched." — Boston  Times. 

Fit^-James  O'Brien. 

The  Diamond  Lens,  with  Other  Stories,     lamo,  paper,  50  cts. 
"  These  stories  are  the  only  things  in  literature  to  be  compared  with 
Poe's  work,  and  if  they  do  not  equal  it  in  workmanship,  they  certainly  do 
not  yield  to  it  in  originality." — The  Philadelphia  Record. 

Duffleld  Osborne. 

The  Spell  of  Ashtaroth.     12010,  $1.00. 

"  It  has  a  simple  but  picturesque  plot,  and  the  story  is  told  in  a  vividly 
dramatic  way." — Chicago  Times. 

Bliss  Perry. 

The    Broughton   House,     ismo,  $1.25.     Salem    Kittredge,  and 

Other  Stories.      121110,  $1.00. 

"  A  wonderfully  shrewd  and  vivid  picture  of  life  in  one  of  our  hill 
towns  in  summer." — Hartford  Post. 

Thomas  Nelson  Page. 

In  Old  Virginia.  Marse  Chan  and  Other  Stories.  !2mo,  $1.25. 
On  Newfound  River.  i2mo,  $1.00.  Elsket,  and  Other  Stories. 
i2mo,  $1.00.  Marse  Chan.  Ills,  by  Smedley.  Sq.  i2mo,  $1.50. 
Meh  Lady.  Ills,  by  Reinhart.  Sq.  i2mo,  $1.50.  A  New  Volume 
of  Stories  (in press}. 

"  Mr.  Page  enjoys  the  distinction  of  having  written  the  most  exquisite 
story  of  the  war  ('Marse  Chan')  which  has  yet  appeared.  His  stories 
are  beautiful  and  faithful  pictures  of  a  society  now  become  a  portion  and 
parcel  of  the  irrevocable  past." — Harper's  Magazine. 

George  I.  Putnam. 

In  Blue  Uniform.    i2mo,  $1.00.    On  the  Offensive.    121110,  $1.00. 

"  An  entertaining  picture  of  life  on  the  frontier  by  one  who  knows 
whereof  he  is  writing." — The  Churchman. 


SCRIBNER'S   BRIEF   LIST  OF   FICTION.  7 

Saxe  Holm's  Stories. 

First  Series.  Second  Series.  Each,  12010,  paper,  500;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"Saxe  Holm's  characters  are  strongly  drawn,  and  she  goes  right  to  the 

heart  of  human  experience,  as  one  who  knows  the  way.     We  heartily 

commend  them  as  vigorous,  wholesome,  and  sufTiciently  exciting  stories.'' 

—  The  Advance. 

Stories  from  Scribner. 

Stories  of  N.w  York.  Stories  of  the  Railway. 

Stories  of  the  South.  Stories  of  Italy. 

Stories  of  the  Sea.  Stories  of  the  Army. 

Illustrated.     Each,  i6mo,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  75  cts. ;  half  calf,  $1.50. 

"Only  those  who  have  regularly  read  Scribner's  have  any  idea  of  the 
delightful  contents  of  these  volumes,  for  they  contain  some  of  the  best 
stories  written  for  that  periodical.  They  are  exquisitely  bound,  clearly 
printed  on  fine  paper,  and  admirably  illustrated." — Boston  Titties. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

Strange  Case  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde:  12010,  paper, 
25  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00.  Kidnapped.  I2mo,  paper,  so  cts. ;  cloth, 
ill.,  $1.25.  The  Merry  Men,  and  Other  Tales  and  Fables. 
i2mo,  paper,  35  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00.  New  Arabian  Nights. 
i2mo,  paper,  30  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00.  The  Dynamiter:  121110, 
paper,  30  cts.;  cloth,  Si.oo.  The  Black  Arrow.  111.  i2mo, 
paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.00.  The  Wrong  Box;  121110,  paper, 
so  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.00.  The  Master  of  Ballantrae.  i2mo,  paper, 
so  cts.;  cloth,  ill.,  $1.25.  The  Wrecker.  121110,  ill.,  $1.25. 
Island  Nights'  Entertainments.  121110,  ill,  $1.25.  David 
Balfour.  i2mo,  $1.50. 

"Stevenson  belongs  to  the  romantic  school  of  fiction  writers.  He  is 
original  in  style,  charming,  fascinating,  and  delicious,  with  a  marvelous 
command  of  words,  and  with  a  manner  ever  delightful  and  magnetic." 

— Boston    Transcript. 

Charles  Warren  Stoddard. 

South  Sea  Idyls.     i2mo,  $i.so. 

"  Brimful  of  delicious  descriptions  of  South  Sea  Island  life.  Neither 
Loti  nor  Stevenson  has  expressed  from  tropical  life  the  luscious,  fruity 
delicacy,  or  the  rich  wine-like  bouquet  of  these  sketches." — Independent. 

T.  R.  Sullivan. 

Day  and  Night  Stories.  First  and  Second  Series.  Each,  i2mo, 
cloth,  $1.00  ;  paper,  50  cts.  Roses  of  Shadow.  i2mo,  $1.00. 
Tom  Sylvester.  12010,81.50. 

"  Mr.  Sullivan's  style  is  at  once  easy  and  refined,  conveying  most 
happily  that  atmosphere  of  good  breeding  and  polite  society  which  is 
indispensable  to  the  novel  of  manners,  but  which  so  many  of  them 
lamentably  fail  of." — The  Nation. 


8  SCRIBNER'S   BRIEF   LIST  OF  FICTION. 

Frederick  J.  Stimson  (J.  S.  of  Dale). 

Guerndale.  121110,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.25.  The  Crime  of 
Henry  Vane.  i2mo,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.00.  The  Senti 
mental  Calendar.  111.  121110,  $1.00.  First  Harvest.  121110, 
$1.25.  The  Residuary  Legatee.  i2mo,  paper,  35  cts.;  cloth, 
$1.00.  In  the  Three  Zones.  12010,  $1.00. 

"  No  young  novelist  in  this  country  seems  better  equipped  than  Mr. 
Stimson  is." — The  Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

Frank  R.  Stockton. 

Pomona's  Travels.  Illustrated  by  A.  B.  Frost.  i2ino,  $2.00. 
Rudder  Grange.  12010,  paper,  oo  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.25.  Illustrated 
by  A.  B.  Frost.  Sq.  i2mo,  $2.00.  The  Late  Mrs.  Null.  i2mo, 
paper,  so  cts.;  cloth,  $1.25.  The  Lady,  or  the  Tiger?  and 
Other  Stories.  i2ino,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.25.  The  Christ 
mas  Wreck,  and  Other  Stones.  121110,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth, 
$1.25.  The  Bee-Man  of  Orn,  and  Other  Fanciful  Tales.  12010, 
cloth,  $1.25.  Amos  Kilbright,  with  Other  Stones.  12010, 
paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.25.  The  Rudder  Grangers  Abroad, 
and  Other  Stories.  12010,  paper,  so  cts.;  cloth,  $1.25.  Ardis 
Claverden,  new  edition.  121110,  $i.so. 

"Of  Mr.  Stockton's  stories  what  is  there  to  say,  but  that  they  are  an 
unmixed  blessing  and  delight?  He  is  surely  one  of  the  most  inventive  of 
talents,  discovering  not  only  a  new  kind  in  humor  and  fancy,  but  accumu 
lating  an  inexhaustible  wealth  of  details  in  each  fresh  achievement,  the 
least  of  which  would  be  riches  from  another  hand." — W.  D.  HOWHLLS. 

Stories  by  American  Authors. 

Cloth,   idnto,  50  cts.  each;    set,  10  vols.,  $5.00;  cabinet  edition, 

in  sets  only,  $7.50. 

"The  public  ought  to  appreciate  the  value  of  this  series,  which  is  pre 
serving  permanently  in  American  literature  short  stories  that  have  con  * 
tributed  to  its  advancement." — The  Bo:ton  Globe. 

Octave  Thanet. 

Expiation.  Illustrated  by  A.  B.  Frost.  12010,  paper,  ^o  cts.; 
cloth,  $1.00.  Stories  of  a  Western  Town.  12010.  Illustrated 
by  A.  B.  Frost.  $1.25. 

"  Good,  wholesome,  and  fresh.  The  Western  character  has  never  been 
better  presented." — Boston  Courier. 

John  T.  Wheelwright. 

A  Child  of  the  Century.     12010,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.00. 
"  A  typical  story  of  political  and  social  life,  free  from  cynicism  of  morbid 
realism,  and  brimming  over  with  fun." — The  Christian  at  Work. 


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